


She is Crowned with Stars

by MerryweatherNoon



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Artificial Insemination, Big bro Legolas, Childbirth, Cultural Differences, F/M, Female Bilbo, Fluff, Forbidden Love, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Half Elf, Healing, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Parent Thranduil, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Pregnancy, Protective Thranduil, The One Ring is Bad News
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2018-07-19 08:44:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 71,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7353982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerryweatherNoon/pseuds/MerryweatherNoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have bestowed a great gift upon me, Elf-friend. Tell me whatever you desire and if it’s within my power as King, I will grant it. Up to half of my kingdom—it is yours, all you have to do is ask"</p><p>But what Bilba Baggins wanted most was not land, wealth or prestige: it was a child of her own. </p><p>Rearing an half-elven child was something Thranduil never envisioned for himself, but the mother-to-be is bringing out his protective instincts, and some other feelings he didn't even know he had.  Now suddenly things are moving a little too fast… or is this right where they belong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba returns the white gems to Thranduil and receives an unexpected reward.

The freezing cold bit into Bilba’s skin as she hurried, pulling along her good-natured pony. The region grew steadily colder over the past three weeks following the battle. So much to do and such little time. What dwindled faster than resources were the spirits of men, dwarves, and elves who survived the onslaught from Mount Gundabad and Dol Guldur.

Bilba tried to help out where she could. Mainly by assisting the overwhelmed healers. Some patients made it, others didn’t. She would do her best to whatever end. Bilba would hold the hand of the dying till their passing and comfort the widow, earning her the nickname “Madam Mercy” among the big folk.

The North has been secured from Sauron’s foothold but at a great price. It was nearly a month later when they finally recovered the last of their dead from the battlefield. This morn, the elves were returning home to bury their kin, but not without promises of aid to Dale and trade agreements to the dwarves of Erebor.

Bilba herself would be traveling back to the west with Gandalf. So this was possibly her last chance to ever speak with the King of the Woodland Realm. It wasn’t hard to find him. Astride the top of his horse, he was one of the tallest elves in assembly. Just a silver circlet adorning his head. The snowflakes caught in his hair glittered like crystals. Bilba never had the chance to really look at Thranduil before. If not running, or hiding in the shadow of his hall, she was bargaining desperately for the lives of her company under the cover of night.

To see him in the morning light under a cloudless sky, without the threat of doom hanging over her head, Bilba could now see and secretly appreciate how beautiful the ElvenKing really was. Fairer than Lord Elrond. To be so fair and yet so masculine. She could almost sense the raw power vibrating from him- Bilba shook her head. She was starting to sound like those hobbit lasses from the Shire who swoon over the Rangers at Bree. Okay, she has found Thranduil, but getting to him would be another challenge. It would be much easier if she could have an elven escort.

Bilba tried to get one of the elves’ attention, but which one, they all looked the same under their bronze armor. By chance or fate, Bilba managed to recognize one of them by his dark gray hair. A rare color in the sea of brunets. He was an elf captain of 3rd division if memory served her right. She had assisted a healer to stitch up his wounds in the healing tents.

“Excuse me! Hello? Master Thimben!”

The elf captain paused at the call of his name. “Hm, oh,” He had to look down to notice her. “It’s you, Madam Baggins.”

“May I have a word with your King before his departure?” Bilba pleaded. “It’s really important.”

Thimben broke formation. Ordering something to his soldiers in his native tongue. They continued to march ahead without him. In westron, he spoke to Bilba, “Follow me.” He led her straight to the ElvenKing, bypassing the other guards and attendants surrounding him. “My Lord Thranduil!” Thimben called.

“Yes, what is it?” The ElvenKing came to a halt.

“Madam Baggins…” the captain motioned to her. “…wishes to speak with you,” Bilba took that as her cue to step forward. “She said it's a matter of great importance.”

Bilba bowed respectfully before him. Thranduil eyed the makeshift sack and water skins dangling from her loaded pony. “You are not to stay with the dwarves…” his eyes narrowed with concern. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, no! That’s… ah, not the case my Lord Thranduil!” Bilba corrected him quickly. “King Dáin has welcomed me to stay, but… but I’m afraid I can dwell here no longer... It’s…” She motioned with her hands. “It’s just too much. Too much has happened and…” her voice cracked. “I still haven’t…” she hiccupped, trying to hold back a sob.

Thranduil’s perfect brow creased with empathy. “It’s alright little one,” he assured her gently. “We are all still grieving in our own ways. Your wounds will heal with time and the scar remains.” His words were all too knowing.

“E-ElvenKing,” Bilba bowed again, hoping to get back to the reason why she came before him. “I would like to give you a gift...err, or perhaps more like a repayment...you see... I may have stolen more than just the keys to your dungeons. Your halls are quite large and I may have been a bit famished. I may be a thief, but I'd like to think I'm an honest one...I hope...more or less...” she muttered the last part to herself.

Bilba turned to retrieve a satchel from her pony. She undid the tie and slid off the sack to reveal a chest. Thranduil gasped, recognizing the chest immediately. Bilba supposed a mere 200 years could not dim his memory. Thranduil quickly descended from his mount. Hovering over her in eager anticipation.

“May I present to you the White gems of Lasgalen,” Bilba opened the lid. A sparkle divine shone like the stars in the heavens. 

Almost in a trance, Thranduil reached down to pick out the necklace and circlet from the chest. “…you are giving this to me freely?” he asked in awed disbelief. “Do you not understand this set is worth more than what you and all your kin could possibly eat for a lifetime in my Halls?”

Bilba snorted. “Have you ever seen hobbits eat?” she blurted out.

Thranduil stared at her for a moment before a wide smile broke across his face, and a loud musical laugh escaped his lips. “No, I have not!” he admitted breathlessly.

“Well let me tell you that we hobbits would probably eat you out of palace and kingdom! Besides, as beautiful as these gems are, I have little need of it!”

Thranduil raised a thick eyebrow. “Because it’s not edible?”

“No! Well… yes…” Bilba admitted grudgingly. That earned her another laugh out of Thranduil and the elves surrounding them. “Seriously, though, I have given you this heirloom back because it’s the right thing to do!” Bilba said with serious conviction. “After all, these gems are from your family’s treasury!”

Bilba flinched when Thranduil’s sharp eyes flicked to her, his humor suddenly gone. “Very few know of that,” the ElvenKing murmured solemnly. “…and even less believe it.”

“Well, I… I learned the truth from Thorin, before his death… he told me that the White gems of Lasgalen were not mined in Erebor.... and into King Thrór’s very hand you delivered the materials needed to craft a necklace fit for an Elven queen.”

Thranduil lowered the precious jewelry back into the chest before closing the lid. “…yes I did.” he exhaled, eyes unfocused. He was probably remembering the day so clearly.

“So that’s why I had to give them back,” Bilba reasoned. “Like the Lonely mountain, Erebor is home to the dwarves, and it’s rightfully theirs,” She motioned to the chest. “This treasure rightfully belongs to you.”

Thranduil lifted the chest from Bilba’s hands and passed them on to his personal servant, Galion. He knelt down to her eye-level, taking her small hands into his, Thranduil declared, “You have bestowed a great gift upon me, Elf-friend. Tell me whatever you desire and if it’s within my power as King, I will grant it.”

Those around them balked at Thranduil’s declaration. Bilba’s eyes darted to the left and right. She was well aware that men and elves who were pretending not to stare, were keenly listening in. Even Captain Thimben lingered, as he stood behind her. Bilba yanked back her hands, blushing fiercely while staring at the ground.

“Y-You should thank King Dáin as well! He allowed me to take these gems as part of my fourteenth share of the treasure!”

Thranduil waved a dismissive hand. “But it wasn’t King Dáin nor any dwarf who willingly gave back my family’s heirloom,” Bilba’s breath hitched as she felt slender fingers tuck under her chin, and lift her head up. “Greed has no hold over you,” he declared with great feeling. “Never have I seen anyone so selflessly pure… not since…” he wavered, his face flickering with raw emotion.

Bilba remained quiet, unsure of what to say.

“Come now!” Thranduil tried again, his face honed back into an impassive mask. “There must be something you desire? I will give you up to half of my kingdom—it is yours, all you have to do is ask.”

Once again Bilba could hear the startled gasps and hushed whispers from elves and men, who by now, had stopped pretending not to listen and were now blatantly staring as they anxiously awaited her response. She sighed. Vows of riches and land may excite others, but it was no good to a hobbit like her. Bilba shook her head. “No,” she said simply. “There is nothing within your power you can give me.”

The ElvenKing paused, looking troubled for a moment before realization dawned on his face. “Ah, is it the life of Thorin Oakenshield?”

The loss of her dear friends had made parting with the remainder of the company even more difficult, but it had to be done. No matter how much they pleaded her to stay, she didn’t belong amongst them. Erebor was for the dwarves. A hobbit could never be happy in a cold mountain away from the sun.

“Although I miss my beloved friend and his nephews greatly, not even the Valar has mastery over the snares of death,” Bilba gathered her courage, to look straight into his eyes. Those wise, ancient eyes watching her back with great curiosity, waited for her to continue. Holding back a sigh, Bilba realized she would be unable to leave Thranduil’s presence without an explanation. Softly she confessed, “My Lord, what I desire is not gold, land or prestige… what I truly long for is a child of my own.”

Thranduil remained silent, watching her with such intensity it could melt the snow.

“I…I’m known back home in the Shire as a Spinster. My mother married only for love, and I won’t settle for less. I always wanted a child, but I don’t have a husband, and now time is against me. I just turned 50 years old this past September so my childbearing days will be over soon...” It was embarrassing to confess these things out loud with so many ears listening and tongues waiting to wag as soon as this ordeal is done-

Then ElvenKing said, “Granted.” 

The clearing went silent. Completely and utterly silent. Did the birds even stop chirping?

“I…” Bilba’s eyes fluttered with confusion. “…I beg your pardon?”

Thranduil tilted his head to the side. “You desire a child of your own, do you not?”

“…yes…?”

“Then giving you a child is within my power as a King,” the ElvenKing replied decisively. 

Bilba was still confused. “So, you would let me adopt a lad or lass?”

“No. This babe shall be of your flesh.”

“Excuse me, but I still don’t understand. How else are you to give me a hobbit kit unless…” Bilba suddenly felt dizzy. “…unless… you…”

“Unless I sired it?” Thranduil added helpfully.

“…right!” Bilba, laughed a little. Her head getting lighter by the second. “Right, because that would be crazy-”

“That is my proposal,” Thranduil said in all seriousness.

“It… it is?”

“Yes.”

“…oh…well… I ahh…”

"Are you feeling all right?" she heard Thranduil ask through the mental fog. Bilba was pretty sure her head would have collided with the rocky ground if it wasn’t for Thranduil’s quick reflexes, and then everything went black.


	2. Meddlesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil and Gandalf have a little disagreement, and Bilba decides to stay with the ElvenKing for the winter.

Thranduil remembered the day he left Thrór’s kingdom emptyhanded, furious, and thoroughly humiliated at being swindled out of his wife’s legacy. For centuries he tried in vain to retrieve them, but it would not be the might of an ElvenKing with a host of heavily armed soldiers. His heirloom would be returned to him in the most unexpected way, and by the most unexpected creature; a little hobbit, from a race he had almost forgotten to have existed. Here was she now, fainted in his arms.

Thimben, his captain of 3rd division wavered, looking nauseated, before falling back into a dead faint with no one to catch him. Everyone else too shocked to move or notice. Thranduil let out an annoyed sigh. Fools. Nonchalantly sidestepping the elf, Thranduil ordered, “We carry on. I would like to return home by sunset.”

When his people finally managed to lift their dropped jaws, they sprang into action. Thranduil brushed off the healers flocking to his side to see to the little halfling. “She’s only fainted. Take hold of her pony.” Thranduil reseated himself on the back of his stallion. A slight ache in his chest at remembering his fallen elk mount. Arasdir had been a brave companion of his for the past decade. His loss was heavy, more so were the loss of his people over this gory campaign.

Thranduil didn’t know the dwarves had survived when he first arrived at the mountain. All he knew by word of tweet from the birds that Smaug was slain. He gathered his forces and traveled out, knowing others would come if the mountain wasn’t secured by the people of Laketown and his chance of recovering his heirloom would be in vain. Of course, nothing turned out as he’d envisioned.

The dwarves lived, some-bloody-how, and then more dwarves came. So did that blowhard of a wizard, interfering with anything and anyone not following his intentions, with ill tidings of an orc army nipping at his heels. To top it all off, his son, Legolas, who had thankfully survived the battle; departed from him, going out into the world. If he wasn’t a dignified ElvenKing that thousands looked to, Thranduil would have placed his head in-between his knees and bawled at this wagon wreck of a month he was having.

Only one good thing came out of this, and even that was debatable. Thranduil glanced down at the sleeping lass still cradled in his arms. Her wispy brown curls cascading down his shoulder and head tucked under his chin. A little bit of drool leaking out the side of her mouth. Thranduil cringed back a little. The halfling muttered something incoherent under her breath before snuggling closer to his chest.

Thranduil lead on, guiding his people home. Ignoring the dumbfounded and concerned looks from his guards. The gaping jaws and hushed whispers from men; and squinting glares of suspicion and outrage from the dwarves. A few of them tried to approach him but were blocked. One nuisance eventually managed to get through, though.

“Make way, make way!” The wizard parted the crowd with his mad dash and flurry of gray robes. And so Mithrandir, the meddlesome blowhard, has arrived. “I haven’t taken you for a thief, O’ ElvenKing!”

Thranduil didn’t rise to the accusation. “She fainted, I caught her. What else you have me do?”

The old man looked unconvinced. "Return her to me at the very least!" he snapped angrily. “Are you truly doing as I heard?” He said getting to the point. “Many rumors fly about. Everyone’s talking: men, dwarves, elves, and beast!”

“Mithrandir, like a fly to one’s ear, you are beginning to annoy me…”

Unperturbed, the wizard replies, “And like one with a broken fly swatter, you fail to smite me yet!”

Thranduil’s free hand twitched for his sword. “I do not make light of the vows I give to an Elf-friend,” he answered, barely keeping the irritation out of his voice.

Bushy eyebrows rose to his receding hairline. "…so, the rumors are true…” for once he seemed at lost for words.  “…if it came not from your own lips, I wouldn't have believed," The wizard sent him a scathing look. “Do you not realize the trouble this may cause? The dwarves alone are furious!”

“Let them seethe in their halls!” Thranduil sneered. Just thinking of the naugrim made his blood boil.

“You walk on thinning ice, ElvenKing!” The Wizard retorted. “Bilbania Baggins is also an honorary Dwarf-friend!”

“How dainty,” Thranduil spat. “She can be declared a friend to the Noegyth Nibin for all I care, but mark my words, wizard: what is between her and I is our business and our business alone!”

Thranduil breathed heavily through his nostrils, doing his best to regain his regal composure. “She was once your burglar, Mithrandir, but the contract is fulfilled. It’s now up to Lady Bilbania the path she takes. She has done me a great service, and she shall be rewarded for it. Who are you to object to it?”

A stare down commenced between the two. Thranduil remained steadfast. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by some dwarves and certainly not by this Istar. After a time the old man deflated with a mutter, “I am too old for this…” The lines on his face creasing the skin, making him seem close to the grave. His gaze softening as it landed on the hobbit. He almost looked apologetic at her. “…has she accepted then?”

“That remains to be seen-” A soft snort interrupted him. The halfling regained consciousness. How she managed to sleep through his spat with the wizard eluded him. “Hm… wha…” She blinked up at him in confusion. “...ElvenKing…?” she asked sleepily.

Thranduil glanced down at her before returning his gaze to the blowhard. “Elf-friend,” he replied.

The wizard chose this moment to lean towards her with a forced smile. “Bilba, my dear, there you are!”

“…Gandalf?” the hobbit muttered, still in a daze.

“You wandered off so suddenly that I had to investigate your whereabouts! So, how’s our expectant mother-to-be, hm?” he teased her.

The hobbit frowned, her mind trying to process what on earth the wizard meant. When it did register, she gave out a panicked squeak, looking humiliated, burying her face in her hands. “Will all of Middle Earth know?” She moaned.

“I’m verily sure they will,” The wizard agreed unhelpfully. “Why, I even predict Rivendell will know within a week or two!”

The hobbit glared in-between her fingers. “Don’t you dare!”

“Not by me, my dear, no.”

“Then who? Messengers cannot travel so quickly on foot and you’re a wizard, so-”

“Ha!” Mithrandir scoffed. “As if being a wizard gives me wings!” He pointed his staff to a small chickadee circling them overhead. “It’s the birds who spread the news… now off you go, you little eavesdropper, shoo!” The little bird flew away at the command.

The halfling scrunched up her nose like an irritated rabbit. “Surly you jest, Gandalf, a _bird?”_

The wizard’s eyes danced with laughter. “Birds happen to be the worst gossipers in all of Middle Earth!” he explained.

“I’m not some softheaded Hardbottle from Willowbottom to believe that!”

“Indeed they are…” Thranduil sighed as if it left a sour taste in his mouth to agree with the wizard. “How else would I have known so quickly that Smaug was dead? It was a little bird who told me so. Couldn’t keep its beak closed to save its life. It sat right on my balcony telling all, from start to finish.”

The halfling sent them both hard, long looks. Testing to see who would crack into laughter first. When neither of them did, she face palmed, before looking up beseechingly at the ElvenKing. “Y-Your majesty, please! About the…ahem… the… the fathering proposal… you cannot do this!”

“Once I’ve given my word, I shall not break it,” Thranduil replied evenly. “You desire a child of your own, then I will fulfill your-”

“Look, it’s alright, really!” She flailed her arms around. “I, no, _WE_ can’t do something so scandalous!” She paused suddenly, realizing her words could be taken as an insult. “Uh, n-no offense to you, my Lord!”

“Be at peace,” Thranduil ran his fingers through her hair. It was amazingly soft and full of volume. “My people uses a method that prevents such contact… In fact, I, physically, will not have to touch you at all.”

“Really…?” She looked mystified. “How can a babe be without doing…” She coughed, motioning her hands.

“Yes, without sexual intercourse,” Thranduil watched her carefully. “If you choose to come with me to the Woodland Realm, my healers and I will tell you more in-depth about the process.”

The hobbit slumped a bit. “You won’t tell me now?” The pout on her lips was surprisingly adorable.

Thranduil glanced around. Though not shy and easily intimidated as the hobbit was, he was still cautious of the ears outside his kingdom. “I rather not speak of such things in the open.”

“Oh, _NOW_ , you don’t,” she scoffed. “As if proposing to father my baby, for all to hear, isn’t private business!”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow at her snarky remark. How she remained endearing while complaining was a mystery. “So, is that a yes?”

She seemed to choke at his question.

“Oho! Not so eager to return home anymore, are you my dear?” Thranduil glared at Mithrandir for his interjection. “If that’s the case, perhaps I should go on ahead… You and the ElvenKing apparently have a lot of, eh, "things" to work out.”

His last statement had the hobbit glaring at the old meddler as well. “We what? Don’t assume such "things", Gandalf!”

“Now Bilba,” He chided her. “It’s not good for an expectant mother to travel so far in your delicate condition-“

“I’m not pregnant yet, you batty wizard!” Thranduil cringed slightly at the volume of the hobbit’s shriek. “Just what are you trying to do!? Persuade me to stay, or abandon me?” She demanded.

“Abandon?” The wizard had the audacity to look surprised. “When have I ever forsaken you, Baggins dearest?”

“Three times and counting!” The hobbit counted off on her fingers. “You abandoned the company and me knowing there were trolls near the Great East Road, that’s one!”

“I rescued you, though, didn’t I?” Mithrandir reasoned as if that earns him a rightful pardon.

The hobbit retorts, “Only after I had to distract those dimwits for hours!” She held up a second finger. “Two, you abandoned us at the entrance of Mirkwood, and three-”

“You are a harsh mistress, Bilbania Baggins!” The wizard cried out, looking a cross between offended and hurt. “I will have you know that I had very important business to attend to!”

Thranduil snorted. When does he not have important wizardry business? Apparently, right now, Mithrandir’s business was to be all up in his, and Thranduil would no longer tolerate it. “Enough!” he commanded. The two, to his satisfaction, fell silent.

“Lady Bilbania,” He addressed the hobbit. “You don’t have to make any decision as of now if you don’t want to. If you choose to return home then you must leave with Gandalf no later than the day after tomorrow, for within a fortnight, the snowfall in the Misty Mountains will render the path impassable. Or…” He said, his voice growing steadily softer. “You may come stay in the Woodland Realm for the winter as an honored guest, regardless if you choose to take up my proposal or not.”

The hobbit’s cheeks flushed brightly with awe. “That’s really generous of you, Lord Thranduil…” Her blush never went fully away, but now it was darker, and richer, like the sweetness of black cherries.

Mithrandir's eyes twinkled with the delight of an elderly grandfather. Despite their bickering and teases, it was plain to see that the wizard cared deeply about her. “I think it would be wise to accept the ElvenKing’s invitation, Bilba,” He told her. “The winter festivities of the Woodland realm alone are worth the short detour!”

The hobbit looked up at Thranduil. “You have festivals, my Lord? Of what kind?”

“Yes, we celebrate an event called the Winter Solstice, I think you will enjoy it. It’s our grandest hunting party of the year with enough spoils for us to feast on for weeks.” Thranduil didn’t fail to see her eyes light up at the mentioning of food.

The halfling looked really excited, just as she was about to say yes, she paused, looking to Gandalf. “But… how will I get home?”

“Not to worry, my sweet,” Gandalf assured her. “I will come to you by the spring thaw. With the snow melted, our journey across the Misty Mountains will be one of ease. However, it’s your choice. If you wish to return home immediately then I will happily guide you, if that is what you prefer.” 

She turned back to Thranduil. “ElvenKing, I would like to accept your invitation, thank you.”

“I am honored to have you,” Thranduil replied with a small smile.

The hobbit looked about suddenly, “Uh, where is Honeysuckle?”

“To who are you referring to?”

“Oh, sorry, she’s my pony.”

“Ah, just a moment,” Thranduil ordered a nearby guard to retrieve the mount.

“Farewell, Bilbania Baggins, may you stay well,” The wizard said his goodbyes. “I will return to you this late March,” he promised.

“Take care old friend,” She replied. “I hope to see you then.”

“Of course my dear. After all, with time, all will show,” he winked at her.

Bilba rolled her eyes. “Oh, Gandalf…” Thranduil watched her lift a hand to her abdomen. “…I guess time will reveal such things… Ah, Honey! There you are my girl!” The hobbit cheered as she spotted the pony being brought over by the guard.

The mare appeared happy to see her mistress as well, its ears perked up and its tail swished around a couple of times. Thranduil carefully lowered the halfling to the ground. Once reunited with her pony, the halfling kissed its nose, muttering sweet things to it.

“She would make a wonderful mother…although I confess: I never would have expected her to become a mother to an elven princeling,” Mithrandir muttered softly. His smile fading as he turned back toward Thranduil. In a stern and quiet tone, he said, “Make sure to take good care of Lady Baggins, and if there’s a babe, care for it too. It will need its sire’s protection and guidance.”

Thranduil frowned at the Istar’s nagging. “You expect any less of me?”

“No. You may be many things, Thranduil Oropherion, but as said by Queen Araseth’s very word, you can be, “an overprotective arse who’s fiercer than a skinchanger, and more stubborn than a buck.” If you give me your word, then I am satisfied.”

It stung, like a wound ripped anew, at the mentioning of his wife’s name. Thranduil's eyes fell back to the hobbit, who had retrieved a bag of dried fruit, sharing the snack with the pony. “Then you have it, Mithrandir,” he promised softly.

 


	3. Lamentations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba gets a new handmaiden and attends an elvish funeral.

The sunset flickered between the snow topped trees like embers in a dying fire as they approached the border to the Woodland realm. Returning to Mirkwood was a shadowy nightmare revisited. Bilba visibly cringed as she recalled her traumatic experience of being lost in the forest with the dwarves. They were trapped in a ghastly enchantment for weeks, suffered from starvation due to dwindling supplies, and nearly became dinner to a nest of giant spiders.

Bilba shuddered once more. “Are you cold little one?” She heard His majesty ask her. Well, at least, this time, she had the ElvenKing as a guide. Bilba glanced to her upper left, only to wish she hadn’t. Never have she felt so mismatched in all her life. Her, a tiny hobbit, astride a fat pony, riding beside the tall ElvenKing on a majestic steed.

“J-Just a bit from the draft,” Bilba grinned up at him nervously, tucking her cloak closer to her body. “I shall be fine!”

The ElvenKing hummed, looking unconvinced. Bilba began to squirm under his scrutinizing gaze. Those pale silvery blue eyes were far too perceptive for her taste, but luckily Thranduil’s attention was diverted to the arrival of an elven squad. Elves clasped in green and browns came out from among the trees to meet their King. At the head of the group was their leader. “Welcome home my Lord!” He greeted their king enthusiastically and then paused. Casting an awed and curious eye to Bilba, before acknowledging her as well. “…and my Lady!”

Bilba’s jaw dropped. Why would an elf refer to her as such? Unless… Her eye twitched. Bilba glanced over the elven guards gathered behind their captain. All their eyes were on her. Eyeing her with open interest and something akin to approbation. Letting out an abrupt sigh, Bilba ducked her head bemoaning, “It’s the birds, isn’t it?”

Thranduil’s deep throaty laugh reached her ears, causing her to redden. “Yes, the birds,” he confirmed. Those tweeting little terrors have gotten here first! Bilba never thought any being, neither living or dead, could match the gossipmonger, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, but that was until she met the birds of the East.  

When the scout captain began to give his report in his native tongue, Bilba did not know what was being said. But if she could guess by the furrowing of Thranduil’s brow, he apparently did not like what he was hearing. He ordered something back. The elves bowed and retreated into the forest like fleeting shadows.

The ElvenKing’s face was pinched and his nostrils flared. “ _Nadorhuarim_ …” he hissed with notable disdain. 

Bilba turned a wary eye on him. “My Lord, what is it?” she asked.

At her question the ElvenKing let out a breath, his face returning to an impassive state. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned with,” he replied dismissively. Somehow Bilba doubted that. _“Noro!”_  he ordered loudly, and then they were moving again.

They rode deeper into the woods. Going down a path that blended in so well with the foliage that Bilba was certain she couldn’t have found it on her own. When they arrived at their destination the kingdom was eerily empty of its folk. Bilba frowned up at the deserted halls as they rode underneath the passages. “My Lord, where are your people? The city seems deserted…” It was a bit unsettling to be this desolate.

“My people are waiting at the burial grounds. For tonight we shall lay our fallen to rest,” He answered. “Mivera!” Thranduil called out suddenly.

An elf-maid broke formation and galloped up to the front on a brown colored mare. Dressed in a dark blue travel coat, and her long hair was slicked back with braids. “Yes my lord?” she inquired.

“I hereby assign you to be Lady Bilbania’s handmaiden-”

“My what?!” the hobbit balked.

The she-elf did not outwardly react to her King’s order nor to Bilba’s outburst. Instead, she placed her right hand upon her breast and bowed. “It’s an honor, Lord Thranduil,” Turning to Bilba she bowed again. “I will serve you to the best of my ability, Mistress Bilbania.”

“M-Mistress?” Bilba cried with disbelief. “Now see here! I don’t need a handmaiden-”

“Mivera will be a worthy asset during your stay,” The ElvenKing assured her with an air of finality. “Anything you ask for within reason, she shall do for you,” Bilba let out a huff. Gracious! She knew she was an honored guest, but really, what was she to do with a private servant? “Mivera, escort our guest to her chambers,” he ordered.

Mivera tried to usher Bilba away. “This way-”

“Wait!” Bilba begged. “I wish to stay and pay my respects to the fallen as well!” she declared passionately. Thranduil gazed at her with a look she couldn’t quite decipher. “If-If that’s okay, I mean!” she added quickly. “I’m not sure if you want an outsider to witness this…”

Thranduil held his hand up to pacify her. “As you wish. You may stay for the burial. However, I still must part ways with you,” He warned. “For I will be leading the funeral procession.”

“I understand,” Bilba bowed. “Do what must be done, my Lord. I am sure I can find my way.”

“Not to worry,” Mivera spoke up, sounding surprisingly chipper. “I will happily guide you, Mistress Bilbania!”

Bilba cringed. “I would like that, but can you please stop calling me mistress? It’s too stuffy and lofty for one such as I!”

“…” Mivera paused, her honey brown eyes flickering with confusion. “But you are our Lord’s  _Cyllartha_ …”

The ElvenKing went rigid in his saddle, and Bilba blinked. “His what-”

“Mivera!” Thranduil rebuked her sharply with a stern glare. Mivera’s face turning paler by the second as he reverted to Sindarin to further reprimand her.

Mivera bowed. “B-Begging your pardon, my Lord! You are right, it’s not my place to say such things!” Turning back to Bilba, Mivera corrected herself quickly. “Wha-what I meant to say is that you are an honored Elf-friend!”

Bilba sent Thranduil an incredulous look, but he refused to meet her eye. “What was that about?” she demanded.

“It’s not of your concern,” came his abrupt reply.  

Bilba's nose twitched. Was this going to be a reoccurring statement from him? Thorin had behaved in a similar fashion with her at first. A habit quickly remedied by a few good whacks from her rolling pin. Alas, her handy utensil was later sat upon by those imbecilic trolls. Thorin had smirked happily at its demise, but that was until Gandalf gifted her with a sword from the troll hoard. The dwarf wisely kept his distance for the weeks that followed.

“It’s my every concern, your majesty,” Bilba interjected firmly.

Thranduil turned back. “Lady Bilbania, it’s not…” He stopped short, no doubt seeing the dangerous glint in her eye. His jaw hung open like a door on its hinges for a couple of seconds, before catching his wits. “Ahem… at least for now it's not,” Thranduil finished.

“And why’s that?” Bilba quipped.

“Persistent, aren’t you?” he murmured, looking off into the distance.

“When I want to be,” she agreed.

Thranduil raised his eyebrows. Yes, he was seeing another side to her, her Tookish streak. No doubt thinking this was why she was a spinster, and he would be partially right. Underneath that humble and proper speaking Baggins was a strong alter ego, the Took. Fiercely opinionated, free-spirited and adventurous. Thanks to Gandalf and some unruly dwarves, the Took has been unleashed upon Middle Earth, never to recede.

The ElvenKing let out a small sigh before relenting, “To be my _Cyllartha_  depends solely on your final decision to accept my proposal or not.”

Oh, his offer to sire a babe, of course it would have something to do with that. Bilba’s cheeks flushed red not from embarrassment for once, but shameless arousal. “A-Ah, I see…” Just imagining him sowing his oats— _No_ , focus, focus! She pinched herself. No, Thranduil had specified he wouldn’t have to lay with her, so she quickly dismissed those inappropriate thoughts.

“Are you alright, Mistress Bilbania?” Mivera asked her in concern. “You appear to be feverish...”

Bilba sighed, rubbing the stubby bridge of her nose. “Just call me Bilba!”

Mivera shifted uneasily. Glancing in the king’s direction. “That’s… not appropriate… How about I refer to you as Lady Bilba?” she compromised. “Is this acceptable to you?”

Bilba nodded. It’s better than nothing she supposed.

They dismounted from their horses at the stables before continuing on foot. Bilba was given a white crystal to hold. The group marched along silently with Thranduil leading the cortege. This would be her first attendance to an elven styled funeral. Bilba wondered what it would be like. She heard that the elves of Rivendell built burial mounds for their dead, but the Woodland elves differed from their kin of the west, so their memorials may be different as well.

They walked on for nearly an hour. The little crystals they were holding now acted as lanterns in the darkness. But as beautiful and otherworldly as it was, Bilba was starting to dearly miss her beast of burden. “We are almost there, Lady Bilba,” Mivera whispered as if she could sense her growing fatigue. “Soon we will be at the tree.”  

Bilba raised her eyebrow. “A tree…” she eyed the many trees surrounding them. What could possibly be so special about a single tree?

“Yes,” Mivera nodded. “You will see. There is no mistaking it.”

The trees they were walking under slowly began to recede as they entered a clearing. In the distance, was an enormous tree. Its branches reaching far and wide overhead. Bilba felt like a little ant as they drew closer to it. “This, Lady Bilba, is our burial ground, the  _Îdh Belegorn,_ ” Mivera informed her. “The Great Tree of Rest”. With our bodies, we nourish the Great Tree so that we shall always be a part of this world.”

At the base of the tree were a sea of twinkling stars. Bilba squinted her eyes. She was able to make out that they were actually elves holding crystals of their own. Each one shining like beacons into the night. As they approached, the elves parted the way for them and the doors beneath its roots were opened. Thranduil stopped and stepped aside with a bow of his head. Loudly he proclaimed something in elvish.

“‘The honorable dead shall pass first’, says our Lordship,” Mivera whispered. Bilba nodded, grateful for the translation. The wagons came forth, pulling the dead inside and down into the deep.

“Where are they being taken to?”

“To the catacombs, but first we shall hold a wake inside the  _Nîrthamas_ , the ‘Great Hall of Tears’.”

When the last of the dead had been brought through the entryway, Thranduil walked in, followed by his people. Bilba had expected the place to be dark and dank. Overrun with mildew, filled with rotting wood and creepy crawlers, but the path was clear, clean and well lit. The air surprisingly crisp with a rich earthy aroma. It was pleasant really, reminding Bilba of her garden at BagEnd.

The path opened up into a grand hall. Bilba tilted her head back to fully take in the chamber, located beneath the base of the tree, the  _Nîrthamas_. The roots wrapped elegantly around the sides of the room and were carved into waiting areas for the elves to sit on. Mivera ushered Bilba to a middle row. Leaving the lower seats for grieving families. They sat down to wait for the ceremony to begin.

On the floor, The ElvenKing stood on a platform next to another doorway that led to the graves. When everyone was seated and all went still, the first body was laid out on the stretcher. “Aradhelwen, daughter of Othion!” the Attendant cried out.

A beautifully woven shawl adorned with the crest of Eryn Las Galan was laid upon the bound body. To Bilba’s surprise, several of the elves immediately broke out in song, singing heartfelt farewells filled with sorrow and longing. So Beautiful and so sad to hear. Different voices rising and falling for several minutes.

Once the laments trickled off, Thranduil raised his voice with a shout, _“Losto vae odron, dadwen!”_ Every elf chanted the same, and with that, the gate was opened and the first body was carried inside.

Bilba wished she knew what was being said. She could read Sindarin thanks to her late mother’s tutoring, but could not speak it nor comprehend any phrases beyond  _Mae g'ovannen_  and  _Novaer_.

“In our tongue, the King says, ‘Sleep well brave one, return soon’,” Mivera translated to her.

Bilba blinked. That was a first. She grew up hearing phrases like ‘so long’ and ‘goodbye forever’ at Hobbit Wakes, so what made the elves believe different. “Return how exactly?” she asked.

“Elves do not die and depart from Arda like mortals do… for we do not possess The Gift of Man, instead we endure, we remain. Through our descendants, we live again.”

Bilba leaned in, fascinated. “So, does it mean that every elf who has died will be reincarnated?”

Mivera nodded. “Yes, reborn in Valinor. Expect for Fëanor, that foul kinslayer…” she muttered the last part darkly. “He will be denied rebirth until the ending of the world-”

“Tegolion, son of Pengion!”

Several of the elves began to sing aloud when a single melodious voice rose higher than the rest. Every corner seemed to echo her overpowering voice. “It’s Lady Súliel, Tegolion’s mother. She... she sings of the loss of her son,” Mivera explained shakily, her eyes looking watery. “…I knew him… he was a brave fighter with a gentle heart…” Mivera raised her voice. The other voice trickling off at her interjection. Bilba’s ear drums quivered. “I said, ‘his bravery unmatched. Never forgotten’…”

_“Losto vae odron, dadwen!”_

Bilba couldn’t keep the tears from overflowing. “Sleep well brave one, return soon!” she cried out. Suddenly this all seemed so wrong. How unnatural it was to bury an elf! They were supposed to endure forever, as long as Arda stood. For an elf to perish, it was like a star to fall from the heavens. It was normal for her and those who shared The Gift of Man, to die, but for a creature never meant to depart from their body, it was utterly tragic.

“My Lady,” an elf sitting nearby addressed her. His russet colored hair dangled past his shoulders as he leaned over to offer a clean handkerchief. Bilba took it gratefully. Wiping away tears and cleared her nose on its edges. She rolled it up when she was done. There was no way he would want a snotty tissue back. “T-Thank you, Master…?”

“I am Feren, my Lady,” He supplied. “The tears you shed for our kin deeply moves me, Elf-friend.” 

He looked overhead, trying to catch Mivera’s eye, but the elf-maiden ignored him by keeping her eyes deliberately on the stage. Bilba glanced between the two but decided to mind her own business.

“Methanar, son of Mistor!”

This went on for the entire night without ceasing. Bilba had no more tears her ducts could produce by the end. She slumped against Mivera from exhaustion and bitter sorrow. Dawn was just on the horizon when she could no longer keep her eyes open.


	4. Saboteur I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the name of loyalty, an elf is driven to diabolical measures.

My King has officially lost his mind. That was certain.

Lord Thranduil was a walking paradox. He would act wise and hold himself with a dignified grace befitting his station, but underneath laid a wild emotional firestorm. Making him fickle, vain, and so stubborn that it could border on the lines of idiocy. His passion fierce and burning. Passion overruling his wisdom and logic at times. Worst yet, he would justify his actions and perspective as lucidity, but all it really was the yearning of his untamed heart.

Our last queen, Araseth, was a Silvan elf. One of Noldorin descent. Rumored to be a direct line from those despicable Kinslayers. Something His Majesty tried to bury deep and fade from memory. Going as far to discourage his son from following his footsteps by marrying outside the Sindar.

Perhaps wisdom had served him well concerning Tauriel, the disgraced Captain of the Guard. An elf-maid I have once admired and respected, gone mad. Fraternizing with dwarves, betraying the King’s trust and bewitching his son. Good riddance to her. I care not where she goes nor her fate.

Now a new stain is ready to soil my King, a little hobbit, a lass that I too had admired from afar. Her courage and selfless actions surely deserved a reward, but the King in his passion had given her too much leeway. Now a ridiculous pledge of fathering her a half-breed child had come to pass right before my eyes.

Well, no more!

I have not survived the Second Sacking of Doriath, and remained a loyal subject for thousands of years just to see the great line of Elmo brought so low. My former Lord and King, Oropher, would turn in his watery grave at the Dead Marshes if he could see his son’s foolishness.

Fret not and return to your slumber, my dear Lord, for I will not allow this to come to pass. The hobbit shall leave the Woodland Realm this coming spring with an empty belly, or not leave at all, womb and body cold, I care not which. Either way, the noble line of the Sindar will not be tarnished ever again!


	5. Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil has a rather busy and grating day, but Bilba makes it better.

Thranduil and Mivera walked silently along the corridor with Galion leading the way. Mivera cradled the hobbit to her chest as she carried her. Bilbania had fallen asleep right at the end of the wake, but Thranduil was impressed she managed to stay awake for so long. She had been traveling with him since the day before and instead of refreshing herself at the first opportunity, Bilba had pushed on throughout the night just to pay her respects to his fallen people.   

“She reminds me of my son,” Mivera whispered to him.

Thranduil instantly felt reassured in his choice of choosing Mivera, for she had a gentle heart. At the news of Smaug’s attack on Laketown, Mivera was one of the first to volunteer in distributing food, medicine, and clothing to the men of Dale. She would have stayed to help rebuilt LakeTown and see to the restoration of Dale like many of their people did, but decided to return to the Woodland Realm because of the said son.

Guilt clawed at Thranduil for being so reckless. It was bad enough the lad's father was off fighting, but his mother gone to the danger zone to serve as well. What would her son have done if he had lost both his parents? He would have been just like Tauriel when she was an elfling, an orphan. 

“This will not be a problem for you…” He found himself wondering out loud. “I wish not to rob time away from your little one.”

With a barely contained snort Mivera shook her head. “Hardly. Tinuben goes off on his own most of the time. I must track him down with the aid of his great uncle.”

Thranduil chuckled. A tale or two of Tinuben’s mischief had reached his ears.

By that time, Galion had opened the towering doors leading to the Royal Wing with a bow of his head. Thranduil’s shoulders sagged with relief as he finally returned to his private corridors. Galion motioned them to stop at the room closest to the doorway. It was a smaller private guest room reserved for family members.

Thranduil frowned. “No, she will not stay here,” he ordered. “The east wing shall be her rooms for as long as she lives.”

Galion appeared startled at the command. Even Mivera blinked, but wisely the two said nothing. His butler scuttled down the halls and to the right. “Forgive me, but the chamber was not aired out. It will be done in a moment, my Lord!” He undid the lock and opened the door before leaving to call for the maids.

Thranduil lingered around the doorway as Mivera walked in completely mystified. The morning light shining through the window allowed her to see the beautiful rustic furniture set decorated with delicate lace trimmings, which added a feminine touch to the room. This was the bedchamber of the departed Queen.

The maids came in a hurry. Quickly and silently as possible they opened the windows and swept the floors. Dusted off the furniture and stripped the bedding. Replacing the sheets with fresh linen and clean blankets. Once they were done they left as swiftly as they came. Mivera laid the hobbit down in the center of the bed and covered her with a blanket.

“Get some rest, Mivera,” Thranduil told her. “If our guest awakens by the time of your return, call for the seamstress to fit her with a gown for the evening.”

Mivera bowed. “Yes, my Lord. I will do that as soon I am done here.”

Galion came back just as Thranduil entered his own chambers in the west wing. “Is everything to your liking, my Lord?” he asked.

“Yes,” Thranduil turned away dismissively, but his butler continued to dawdle. “Galion, what is it?” Thranduil growled out, getting impatient.

“Your chief advisors have requested your immediate presence in the conference room…” He ducked his head.

Thranduil huffed. Just for a moment, he envied the sleeping hobbit. Elves did not need sleep as mortals do, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t and in this case, shouldn’t. A dreamrest sounded refreshing after spending the last 36 hours traveling and leading a funeral procession. He felt positively drained, both mentally and physically.

“I will be there in half an hour,” Thranduil replied dutifully, already having an inkling of what they wanted to discuss.

Thranduil retreated further into his bedroom, immediately spotting the wooden and iron cast chest. As ordered, it was brought to his chambers instead of the treasury. He sat upon the edge of his bed and opened the lid. Thranduil raked his fingers through the gems, they glittered beautifully beneath his hand. Was it finally enough? He had done so much to commemorate Araseth’s memory.

In the first century of her death, Thranduil had sanctified the beast his wife had loved so dearly. Integrating its symbol into the culture of his people. From his throne to his crown, and his crest: all bore the mark of the elk. A millennium later he had erected a statue of her at the entryway of the Greenwood, so those who entered would see the fair face of its greatest keeper.

And then two thousand years since her passing, in a moment of weakness and of longing, when a hunting party failed to excite him, and no amount of wine would quench his sorrow. Thranduil had wanted to do something special. Only for her. Something he had failed to gift her since their pledging.

Thranduil had wealth. Many gems he had inherited from his father and his grandfather, but it was nothing compared to the treasuries of old. He longed to obtain a collection of the likes of ElvenKing Thingol, but in doing so he would unintendedly share in his fate to mistakenly trust the naugrim to craft his fine jewels.

The ElvenKing felt as if a weight had been lifted off his heart at their return. That’s why later, when his advisors spoke with him in an emergency council concerning his vow to father a child for Bilbania Baggins, Thranduil refuted their claims without hesitation. This, of course, made them squabble like elflings in his presence. Thranduil watched with disinterest as he visibly slouched in his chair at the head of the table.

Their main concern happened to be the hypothetical child’s legitimacy to the throne. They also feared the repercussions of Legolas’ response to having a half-blood sibling. They recounted the tragic tale of Finwë and how there was so much strife between his sons that it led to horrifying events in the early ages of Middle Earth. That’s when Thranduil felt offended on his son’s behalf. Legolas would undoubtingly be less than pleased, but he certainly was no Fëanor in the making.

Thranduil straightened in his seat and announced, “I plan not to suffer Finwë’s fate as to take another bride. Bilbania Baggins, if she so chooses, will be my  _Cyllartha_ alone. Not a wife nor a queen. However,” Thranduil briefly paused, making sure he had their complete attention. “As the law states: Any child begotten by the  _Nestaóim_  is to be treated as an equal heir to its father’s house! Legolas is my firstborn. If he so chooses freely to denounce his claim to the throne, only then will the crown pass to my second born at my demise. Am I Understood?"

A few appeared mollified, the rest were simply subdued, for his word was law in the Woodland Realm. Only Sadron, one of his most stiff-necked advisors, still looked defiant. Sadron’s eyes narrowed a fraction. To an untrained eye, his slant would have gone unnoticed. “I still believe this is unwise my King… a half-breed with the chance of ruling the Greenwood is unbecoming. Even you must feel the same,” He stated firmly.

Thranduil's icily glare burned like frostbite into Sadron. The councilmen sitting beside Sadron shuddered and unconsciously scooted away. “My feelings are none of your concern,” He retorted lowly. His tone chilly and dangerous as the undercut of a blizzard. “As are my thoughts, which are higher than yours,” Without breaking eye contact with the advisor, Thranduil called, “Galion!”

“Y-Yes, my Lord?”

“Have the nursery aired.”

Galion bowed. “It shall be done.”

And with that, Thranduil got up and left. He had better things to do than squabble with this irksome council like overseeing preparations for tonight's homecoming feast.

* * *

Thranduil felt better by the time twilight rolled around. In between his duties he had a good soak in the baths, a bottle of wine and two hours of dreamrest. Now seated at the feast Thranduil was dressed out in maroon colored robes with bronze trimmings. On his head, he wore a matching headdress embedded with rubies.

The hobbit arrived an hour later, being led in by Mivera to the head table. A pearly circlet adorned her head. The dress she wore was the color of a robin’s egg, richly embroidered with pearls on the neckline and on the belt in a wavy design. The long hanging sleeves were made of silky chiffon. The dress originally had a train but it was shortened in the back.

Thranduil smiled approvingly at her. The seamstress had done a marvelous job in such a small speck of time. “You look beautiful,” He told her truthfully.

“T-Thank you, my Lord,” Bilbania replied, looking off to the side as she self-consciously stroked her hand over her bare collarbone. The scooping neckline gave a peak of her breasts.

“Come, and sit at my right.” And at his side, the hobbit remained. Practically eating her weight in food as she watched the other elves dance on the ballroom floor. “Are you enjoying the music?” He asked her, trying to stir up some conversation.

“It’s lovely!” she replied happily. Bilba continued to watch as the dancers were beginning to pair off. "Oh, I haven’t danced in such a long while,” She muttered wistfully.

“Do you wish to dance?” Thranduil asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a jig or two,” she admitted.

Thranduil drained the last of his wine. Placing the goblet aside he stood up, “Then you shall dance,” he stated decisively, getting to his feet. “Would you honor me with a dance?” He offered her his hand.

The hobbit nearly choked on her last bits of blackberry tart. “W-With you?” She asked disbelievingly. “But my Lord I didn’t mean…” Bilba trailed with a sigh. She hastily wiped lips and hands on a napkin before taking his hand. “Just…ehm, just watch the feet, alright?” She warned.

“Of course,” Thranduil assured her. “I shall be ever careful not to trample a single toe,” he promised.

“I wasn’t speaking of mine. Be mindful of  _YOUR_  feet, my Lord!” she pleaded.

His people parted the way for them. Many of their faces shocked, for it’s been hundreds of years since their king entered the dance floor. Thranduil didn’t consider the height difference between them until they began to circle. His people were grinning behind clasped hands and covered their snickers with convenient coughing fits.

The hobbit seemed well aware of just how strange they looked and blushed with shame, keeping her eyes directly on her toes.

Thranduil was having none of that. “Lady Bilbania, look only at me,” He shifted down his hands so they remained connected. The Hobbit looked up. “This is here, and we are all that matters. Dance with me, and give it your all!” The pace began to change, and so did the hobbit. Her eyes were no longer intimidated. “Are you ready?” he asked her.

“Are you, your majesty?” she replied.

Maybe it the determined spark in her eyes or maybe the glint of pearl white teeth through smirked lips, but Thranduil found himself fascinated. Their hips shifted in time with the beat and their footwork crisp. One barefooted and oversized, the other shoed and narrow, but it didn’t matter, they were in perfect harmony.

The music shifted to a faster tempo and Thranduil feared he might lose Bilba then, however, the halfling pleasantly surprised him by merely adjusting her stride to match his. They twirled around in a whirlwind of silks and hair flowing. He could hear clapping and hoots from the crowd, but the Bilba took no notice. Her eyes only on him. Her smile wide, and eyes gleaming.

The beat of the drum growing faster as it reached its climax. That’s when a wicked grin crossed the hobbit’s face, shocking Thranduil. She switched in mid-step to another style, no longer following his lead. She smirked up at him, daring him to keep up.

Thranduil laughed heartily at her mischief. He recognized a variation of the westron styled dance and matched her jig.

“I’m impressed!” she complimented him.

“I haven’t lived six millennia for nothing!” Thranduil replies.

 At last, the song ended in synch with the duo, and thunderous applause broke out across the room. 

Brown curls wild and fluttering around Bilbania’s face only being held back by her circlet. Her bosom heaving and a smile wider than he ever seen. Thranduil stared down indulgently at Bilbania. Beautiful, simply beautiful.  He was only drawn back to the present when he heard a few lewd snickers and some low suggestive whistling.

Thranduil straightened, pulling her up with ease. “You dance magnificently!” he breathed, kissing the back of her hand. Thranduil paused in mid-surprise, so sweet was her skin. Tasting almost like the nectar extracted from the Honey Wildflower that grew abundant in the summer months.

The hobbit curtsied. “Y-You’re not half bad yourself, O’ ElvenKing!” she replied breathlessly. “Sweet Yavanna, whew!” She fanned herself with her hand as Thranduil escorted her off the dance floor. “I haven’t dance so well in many a moon!”

“Neither have I,” Thranduil admitted. “I think that will have to change,” he chuckled. “For however long I have such an exquisite dancing partner living under my roof!”

Predictably the hobbit turned a redder shade, and not from exertion. “Please my Lord do not torment me so! There’s only so much flattery I can take in a day!” she giggled. “Oh!” Her eyes lit up when she noticed the creamy dessert the waiters were starting to serve. “Is that steamed plum pudding?”

The musicians eased back into a slow number. Others moved in on the dance floor as Thranduil retook his seat. Bilbania barely sat down with her treat before many elves approached her, asking for a dance. Mournfully placing aside her pudding custard, Bilba accepted several of them, mainly from acquaintances or a face she recognized.  

The most annoying of them happened to be Elros. A guardsman too bold for his own good. The hobbit got flustered and stuttered out apologies for stealing his keys and no doubt landing him in serious trouble, but Elros laughed it off. He even had the nerve to wink and tease her throughout the course of their dance. Thranduil watched all this with disapproval. 'Let’s see how saucy he would be if he had to clean the stables for a decade,' he thought to himself. 

It was an hour later when Bilbania returned to Thranduil's side. Once she caught her breath she resumed eating several servings of dessert. They chatted idly, but Thranduil noticed how distracted the hobbit seemed to become. She kept glancing down the table and looking around the room as if she was searching for someone.

The ElvenKing tilted his head to the side as he observed her. “Something weighs on your mind?” he asked.

The halfling pushed around her custard a moment longer before asking, “I haven’t noticed your son, is he alright?”

Thranduil felt his chest tightened in a strange sense. Pride being one, the other relief and lastly the most present feeling: a sense of loss. His last link to Araseth had gone from him and out into the world for the first time. “Legolas is fine. He rode northwest before the snowfall across the Misty Mountains.” 

“Oh…” the hobbit didn’t know what to say. 

“It’s not a terrible thing,” He chuckled. “Legolas has stayed under my protection close to two millennia!”

“Oh, if you put it that way, I guess it’s about time he left the nest,” the hobbit stretched in her seat with a yawn. “That doesn’t make it easier on you, though.”

“No, it doesn’t…” Thranduil agreed quietly before asking, “Sleepy, my dear?"

“A little,” she confessed. “All that dancing tired me out a bit…”

“Then let us retire for the night. I will personally escort you.”

Thranduil got up to pull back her chair while silently motioning the servants away with his hand. He took her down a more scenic route with swooping bridges and the grandest waterfalls running beneath them. Not one detail seemed to pass her by as Bilbania took in every nook and cranny as they sauntered down the halls. “Your realm is truly beautiful, my Lord,” she commented with notable admiration. 

Thranduil nodded. “I thank you."

"I haven't noticed this path before."

"It does not seem familiar to you at all?" Thranduil wondered. "You were in my halls before."

"W-Well, that's a different altogether!" Bilba hastily explained. "When last I was here, I was a burglar and I remained in the shadows and near the dungeons." 

Thranduil looked over his shoulders back at her. "Well, this time you are my guest. I will show you many things you haven't known before and in time I hope my halls shall become like a second home to you.” 

Once they reached their private chambers, Thranduil held the door open for her to pass through and then followed behind much to her shock. He chuckled at her oblivion. “I live here too,” he explained. “This is the royal wing.”

The hobbit’s jaw dropped. “I… you placed me so close in your quarters?”

“For your deeds you are highly honored in my kingdom and liken onto family if you were to bear a child from…” Thranduil paused, realizing he was overstepping his boundaries. “My healer, Cullas, will be tending to you tomorrow,” He informed her suddenly. “He specializes in the  _Nestaóim_ , and if you allow, he shall be your primary healer and midwife.”

“Nes… _Nestaóim?”_  Bilba repeated the unfamiliar term with interest. “What kind of specialty is that?”

“In westron, it translates into ‘healing from within’. It’s a practice only done among the Silvan elves here in the Greenwood because I permit it so.”

The hobbit frowned, looking at him suddenly suspicious. “So, this is something not even Lord Elrond would allow…” She muttered more to herself than him.  “Why only amongst your people?”

He smiled cryptically at her. “It’s an explanation best told in the daylight hours.”

The hobbit huffed impatiently at his reply. “You’re starting to sound more and more like Gandalf!” she grumbled.

Thranduil was quite shocked by her sudden change in demeanor, but even more offended by being compared to Mithrandir. “Don’t compare me to that irksome Istar!” he quipped in an affronted tone.  

“Then stop being so vague!” she retorted. Thranduil openly glared at her, feeling rather irritated by her antics. At seeing his scowl, the Hobbit’s annoyance swiftly turned to fear as she had forgotten who she was speaking to. “I-I mean, whatever you say my Lord! G-Goodnight!” She tried to flee from his presence.

“Wait,” Thranduil commanded. Bilba came to abrupt halt. “I never meant to stall, I only mean for you to wait until Cullas can explain the procedure to you in full. He is far more knowledgeable than I will ever be on the subject.”

“Oh…” she muttered, a regrettable look crossing her features. The hobbit gave him an apologetic bow. “…S-Sorry for jumping to conclusions.”

Thranduil nodded. “All is forgiven. Sleep well, _Elvellon,_ _”_

Bilba paused. She was no doubt curious what the term meant, but didn’t want to draw any more attention to herself. Thranduil couldn’t help himself when a deep chuckle escaped him.

“And what’s so amusing?” she grumbled.

“Do not be afraid to ask!” Thranduil told her. _“Elvellon_  in Sindarin means ‘Elf-friend’, Lady Bilbania.”

“Ah, I see, thanks for telling me,” Bilba muttered. Taking a deep breath, she addressed him, “…my Lord…” Thranduil could see her ears beginning to redden. “Can I ask you one last question?”

Thranduil couldn’t stifle the mischievous grin spreading across his lips. “That, and many more should you desire!” he replied. He knew he was being unfair, but really, flustered cheeks looked comely on her. That, and it was all so very amusing to tease her.

“W-What Mivera called me yesterday… I think the term was Cy-um…” The hobbit paused, looking slightly mortified as she tried and failed to pronounce the word properly. “I think it was Cyll…arth… something like that. I am sorry, I don’t recall the exact word used…”

Thranduil’s eyes softened when he realized what she was referring to. “ _Cyllartha_ …” he supplied. “It means, ‘One who bears hope’, or more specifically, ‘bearer of hope’. If you choose to become my  _Cyllartha_ , then my hope will reside within of you…” his gaze dropping from her face to her abdomen.

Bilbania gasped, “You refer to a baby as ‘hope’?”

The ElvenKing shook his head. “No, it’s a term referring to the mothers… for they are the vessels of hope. Within their wombs grows a new life, bringing hope in the midst of despair and loss,” He smiled warmly at her. “Having children, after all, is the greatest gift of the Valar and the fondest years of an elf’s life.”

The halfling looked up at him with teary eyes. “That’s… really beautiful!” she whispered with great feeling.

Thranduil nodded. “It is,” he agreed.

“Your majesty…”

“Yes?”

“I can’t help but wonder if there is an elvish word I could refer to you… I’m your  _Cyllartha_ , your vessel of hope. So what are you called?”

Thranduil cleared his throat lightly. “I will be your seed-giver… your  _Eredhóneth,_ ” His eyes flickered down waiting for her response. She looked a bit stunned, but her cheeks didn’t glow like the blossom of a fresh spring rose. 

“My goodness that’s blunt… so…” A sly look came to her face. “How exactly are your seeds going to be planted into my little hobbit garden, _Eredhóneth?”_

Thranduil jerked back slightly as he sent her an incredulous look. “I will only tell you  _why_  not  _how_ it works!” He blurted.

The hobbit laughed at him. “O’ ElvenKing, am I detecting some squeamishness from you?” she giggled. Her tease catching him off guard. “Not to worry, you can spare me the details!” Bilba opened the door to her chambers. She paused, looking back over her shoulder. "Tomorrow?"

Despite himself, Thranduil found himself grinning back at her. “Tomorrow morning,” He confirmed.


	6. Ruminations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba struggles with her choices, and later on meets a little elfling.

“And that’s the reason why the practice of the _Nestaóim_ started; for children to be born without violating the sanctity of marriage as set down by the Eldar. It works to anchor elves with fading _Fëa_ to the world and through the process of rearing a new life, the parents will find their own healing. Healing through their  _Hên Nestadren_ , their ‘child of healing’.”

Bilba withered. “I see…”

This was all a bit too much to take in at once, especially alone. Being abandoned to face the healer by herself the next day not only by her  _Eredhóneth_  but handmaiden as well. Bilba let out a dejected sigh. Alright, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration. The ElvenKing had been called away to a meeting and Mivera had gone to find her wayward child who was skipping his lessons.

What a selfish little hobbit she was being, Bilba realized. Thranduil was a king with subjects and great responsibilities and Mivera obviously had a life outside of servitude, so it was irrational to expect them to cater to her needs around the clock-

“My Lady, what is it?” Cullas inquired.

Bilba looked up at him. The first thing Bilba saw was amber. Warm and bright like trickling honey. Never have she seen eyes like his before. Bilba paused as she beheld his tall and noble bearing. He was the first elf Bilba had ever seen to have freckles dusting his pale cheeks, especially in the winter time, and his silvery blonde hair brushed back behind his shoulders. From a distance, one would think him liken onto the ElvenKing.

“I don’t know about this anymore,” Bilba confessed.

“How so?”

“I feel unworthy,” she admitted. “I just want a child, but I didn’t suffer like your folk, well…” Bilba hesitated before backpedaling. “…actually, I have lost someone dear to my heart, but not to the extent of dying from overbearing grief.”

“The _Nestaóim_ isn’t limited to just elves on the verge of death,” Cullas clarified. “Some simply desire children to raise, but cannot find a mate. Do you not fall into that category?”

“Lord Cullas…” Bilba swallowed hard. “Do you believe the King and I are compatible?” she asked suddenly.

Cullas blinked. “Why, yes. I believe your race is genetically compatible with elves,” he confirmed without hesitation. “A hobbit’s anatomy is similar to the race of men after all.”

“…that’s not what I—never mind!” Bilba quickly hushed up, feeling silly she was asking him of all people.

“Hm?” Cullas watched her curiously as her face grew hotter. Then understanding dawned on the healer’s face. “You wanted to bear a child from a marriage, but more importantly from a union of love,” he realized.

By now the color of the hobbit’s ears matched her cheeks.

He chuckled at her embarrassment. “Well, I can’t speak for his majesty, but it’s simple to see he cares for you. Our King tends to be very stoical and curt, even to his son, but I saw the way he treated you at last night’s celebration. It’s a clear testimony of the love and friendship between you both.”

“I needed to hear that… thank you.”

“Merely an observation, my Lady.”

“But I still wonder if this is right to have the ElvenKing as my _Eredhóneth…_  what if I simply return to the Shire? Believe it or not there are some gentlehobbits who would still marry a runaway spinster like me,” she commented idly. “Even if it’s just for Bag-End and my money.”

“But it wouldn’t be for love,” Cullas pointed out sadly, eyes softening with pity. “And it wouldn’t be with our King.”

Bilba grimaced. “Lord Cullas, please understand…  hobbit kits outside of marriage is considered tabooed by my people. I had witnessed two generations shunned and belittled for decades,” she recalled. “Even if the maiden were made right by wedding vows, it will always be a snide behind her back and an insult to her children’s faces.”

Cullas frowned with confusion. “I never truly understood the concept of illegitimate offspring. If they come from your loins, they are yours, end of story. No shame to be had.”

Bilba laughed feebly. “Well, I guess elves wouldn’t see it as such, especially if sex basically means marriage in your culture,” Suddenly a thought occurred to her. “Huh, so does that mean not a single child of your race would be considered a bastard?”

“Well, I wouldn't know about that. I get called a bastard at least once a day by someone. Particularly by that handmaiden of yours,” he shrugged innocently.

Bilba’s eyebrows rose. “Why is that?” she tried to ask, but he evaded the question.

“That’s another tale, but in all seriousness…” Cullas took Bilba’s hands into his. “It’s best not to dwell on the opinion of some judgmental folk. You are half way across Middle Earth in the Woodland Realm surrounded by elves who would treasure your child.”

Her heart still yearned for the Shire, Bilba realized sadly. To see those rolling green hills and the blossoms of Forsythia shrubs in the early spring. Long summer days in the field and trout to be caught from the river. The golden leaves and the harvest to follow in the fall. It grieved her never to return home, but that will be the price to pay for a child born outside of the traditional marriage of kin.

Cullas could see her internal struggle. “You need not make a decision today. However, I would like to proceed with the preparations. You can always change your mind and refuse the procedure if you wish.”

Bilba nodded numbly.

“Alright,” Cullas pulled away a bright smile across his face. “Then I have good news for you! Based on the information you have provided today I estimate that you will ovulate within three weeks.”

Bilba froze. Cullas’ words become incoherent as reality smacked her in the face.

“That means we can perform the  _Nestaóim_  on you within a month. About a week before the Winter Solstice on December 14th to be precise… oh!” he paused thoughtfully. “Of course this means I will have to put the King on the Echui potion right away so he can be ready for this part,” Cullas winked wickedly at Bilba.

When the hobbit failed to respond, his face grew sober with concern. “My Lady, you seem a little pale…” 

“Am I… I-I mean the _King!_ Is he truly ready about this?”

Cullas sent her a shrewd look. “Lord Thranduil has given you his word and he will do this without hesitation. I think the real question is, are you?” he asked, eyes watching her reaction carefully.

“… …yes?”

“Lives hang in the balance, my Lady. Yours, the King’s and possibly your child’s. There can be no hesitation in your answer."

Bilba slid off the bench. “I need to go bake something,” she declared, heading for the door. “Thank you for your time, Lord Cullas.”

“Anytime, my Lady, but please, I am only Cullas,” He stood quickly to show her out.

* * *

Cooking sweets have always seemed to soothe her jitters. While her mother was alive Bilba would help in the kitchen as Belladonna worked her magic. Bilba’s favorite pick-me-up treat happened to be lemon tarts. Unfortunately, the supply of lemons was low so Bilba picked the next best thing in overstock: pumpkins.

The hobbit lass stayed in the kitchen and baked for the rest of the morning. Churning out pumpkin cookies, pumpkin bread, pumpkin puree and pumpkin soup.

The cooks, once wary of her presence, were now intrigued. Her desserts received some praise, but nothing compared to her pumpkin soup. The elves weren’t aware that adding whipped heavy cream to the soup mix at the very end would give the soup a smooth, savory taste. Normally Bilba would have been squeamish about sharing secret family recipes, but Cullas was right: she was a long way from home. And here there were no catty hobbit lasses ready to steal a recipe just to gloat about it over teatime. She was surrounded by elves who would enjoy her clan’s dish for thousands of years. Long after she and her family had gone and memories forgotten.

Bilba worked near the entrance of the kitchen and away from the main floor in hopes of staying out of the cooks' way. She was just finishing up her sweets by sprinkling some powdered sugar on the cookies when suddenly a blur came dashing in. The hobbit let out a let out a startled squeak as it dived beneath the counter, rattling her stool.

“Just what was…?” Bilba ducked her head to look underneath the table and found nothing.

“You little spawn of the balrog!” cried an angry voice. “When I get my hands on-” An elf rounded the corner and his threat fell short when he spotted her. “L-Lady Bilba… ahem!” he bowed.

Bilba recognized him. It was the elf from the night of the burial who gave her a handkerchief. “Master Feren,” she greeted him back cordially.

“I am looking for my nephew. Have you seen him?”

Bilba averted her eyes. “I did see a blur run by here, but little else…”

“Thank you,” Feren pardoned himself before dashing down the hall.

Just as Bilba was about to get back to work, a little child popped up from the table, observing her with large honey-brown eyes. His shoulder length hair gleamed like polished steel in the crystal light. This was an actual elfling! Bilba realized leaning in, fascinated. He was like a human child in appearance but his features were a bit more delicate, along with those trademark pointed ears.

“Hello there,” she greeted him.

“You’re not an elf,” the boy commented and he bit into one of her freshly powdered cookies.

Bilba blinked, giving a sideway glance at her tray. “You’re right, I’m not. I’m a hobbit,” Bilba told him.

His eyes lit up. “Oh, so you’re the Elf-friend! Everyone is talking about you!”

Bilba didn’t know that was such a good thing or not. Hoping to make a good first impression, Bilba smiled as widely as she could. “My name is Bilba,” she introduced herself. “So, who are you, little cookie thief?”

“I am Tinuben, my lady,” he gave a short bow before stuffing the rest of the cookie into his mouth and muffled, “And your cookies taste good by the way!”

“Tinuben,” she repeated quietly. “That sounds like a nice name. What does it mean?”

“It means “to spark” like a spark that makes fire,” Tinuben answered, licking powdered sugar off his thumbs. _“Nana_ said she named me that because I ignited life within her when I came to be.”

Bilba blinked. He sounded so advanced for his age, but his appearance couldn’t have been over the age of seven.

“So, what does your name mean?” the elf-child asked her back.

Bilba waved him off. “That’s a long story…”

“I will listen,” Tinuben promised.

“Well, my name refers to a sword of all things,” Bilba told him. “And let me tell you, my lad, it was not normal to name a hobbit kit after a weapon!”

Tinuben sat down on the stool next to her. “Why?”

“Because normally we hobbits name our daughters after flowers, herbs or trees, but I was named after my mother’s old sword. One she used to carry with her on her adventures. It was noted for the temper and elasticity of its blade.”

“Do you still have your mother’s sword?”

“No, the sword was broken and lost, but I have come onto one of my own,” Bilba patted her bare hip, wishing she had brought it along. “I have bestowed the name Sting upon it.”

“How did you come to name your sword that?”

“That’s another tale, sweetpea.”

Tinuben hungrily eyed the plate of pumpkin cookies sitting beside the hobbit. “I will listen if you give me another cookie.”

Bilba cocked an eyebrow at the elf lad’s brazen offer. “I never gave you a cookie to begin with,” she pointed out. “And shouldn’t the bribery be the other way around?”

The elfling seriously pondered her question before negotiating, “I will listen to your story  _and_  show you the gardens for a cookie. I like the gardens. My friends meet me there—OW!” Tinuben cried out.

“I have finally caught you!”

“Ahhh! U-Uncle Feren!”

Feren had returned unexpectedly. Without announcing himself he quickly latched his fingers to the elfling’s ear like a fisherman’s hook.

Bilba looked sheepish. “I found out what that blur was…ahaha,” she chuckled nervously.

“You are going straight back to tutoring!” Feren growled to his nephew. “And you will apologize to your mother and your teacher for this stunt!”

Bilba’s heart jumped. Was this the child Mivera left to search for?

“Ahhh! But _Istoneth_ -Nessa is boring!”

"It matters not! You still need to learn!" Feren pinched his nephew’s ear harder in retaliation. “Just because your mother has other obligations doesn’t mean you can wander off to do as you please!” turning back to Bilba, Feren tried to apologize, “I am sorry that I and my kin have troubled you today-”

“May I join you?” Bilba blurted, getting surprised looks from both elves. “I-I am curious,” she admitted. “I would like to see how your little ones are educated.”

“…I suppose it wouldn’t be a problem,” Feren said.

Tinuben made a face. “Why would you willingly go to my dull lessons?”

“I like learning," Bilba answered the child sincerely. "The more knowledge you have, the wiser you will be," she winked at him. "And the sooner you learn all there is to learn, the sooner you will be no longer required to go.”

Tinuben’s eyes went comically wide, his jaw dropping a little. “Really?” he looked to his uncle. “If I learn everything then I don’t have to go to my lessons anymore?”

Feren sent him a stern look. “Lady Bilba is right, but that is only if you learn  _everything_  you need to know,” he told him firmly.

Tinuben began to perk up. “Then I will! Why haven’t anyone told me sooner?” he demanded, earning an incredulous look from his uncle.

Bilba held back her giggles as she hurried around the table to clean up her mess and pack the treats.


	7. Elflings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba joins a class and Mivera’s past is revealed.

 

“I am so sorry for the trouble my household and I have caused you today, Lady Bilba” her handmaiden practically groveled at her feet. “I understand if you wish to dismiss me from your service for-”

“C-Calm down!” Bilba fretted at how the conversation was going. “I won’t be dismissing you over something beyond your control! I already said that if it were my child missing I would left without a say so!”

Mivera bowed to her. “You are most gracious. And as for you Tinuben…” Mivera’s fingers pinched down harder her son’s ear, earning a howl of pain from the youth. “You are to never run off like that again!”

Bilba cringed as she watched, wondering if elven ears were as sensitive as hobbit ears. It was like a trade of hands when she, along with Tinuben and Feren, arrived at the schoolroom. Mivera was already there waiting for them and as soon as Feren loosened his hold, Mivera took over with pinching vengeance.  

“There’s no need to worry about that,” Bilba said sweetly, trying to defuse the situation. "He’s a sweetpea who will be attending his lessons from now on, isn’t that right, Tinuben?”

Tinuben nodded hurriedly, if not desperately. Turning his pleading eyes up to his mother.  

Mivera made a face, looking unconvinced, but managed to keep back a scathing rebuke as she released his abused ear. “Very well, I shall take my Ladyship’s word. Be grateful to her, Tinuben, she speaks well of you.”

“Thank you,” Tinuben bowed to her as he rubbed his abused earlobe. Personally, Bilba wished he wouldn’t bow. She was no one special to earn such reverence among the elves.

Bilba patted the top of the elfling’s head. “Er, why don’t you introduce me your classmates, hm?”

Tinuben’s face immediately brightened. He bounced over to where the other elflings were standing, as they looked on from a distance, and brought them to Bilba.  

Including Tinuben, there were seven elflings in total. None looking over the age of twelve. The youngest appearing to be around five years of age. They stared at Bilba like she was an exotic beast, utterly fascinated and not intimidated at all, but considering how they were about the same height and size as her, it was not unexpected.

One came right up to Bilba, it happened to be the youngest, and she exclaimed, “Your feet are big and furry! Are you like a bunny?”

“Merildes!” their teacher, Nessa, chided her.

Not at all irked, Bilba replied cheerfully, “Well, I do live in a hole in the ground.”

“Really?” blurted out another, this time the eldest of the group. A boy with dark brown hair and sapphire eyes. “You live in a muddy hole like rabbits do?”

“No, no. I live in a homey house beneath the hill!” Bilba laughed. “Not a dirty, wet hole, filled with worms and an oozy smell with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: my house is a hobbit-hole and that means good food, a warm hearth and all the comforts of home.”

“Then why did you leave such a comfortable home?” he asked. “My _Ada_ said you came far from the West…”

“I did it to help a dwarf king reclaim the kingdom of Erebor.”

The elfling’s face contorted. “You mean that mad dwarf king who got himself and his family killed trying to hoard gold from King Thranduil and the people of Dale?” he asked with notable disdain.

There was silence. The adults watched with bated breaths, looking ready to intervene at a given moment.

“Gold sickness ran in his family,” Bilba admitted in a sober tone. “But I knew Thorin Oakenshield as a great and devout leader of his people before the sickness took hold…” she let out a breath, but a great weight remained on her shoulders, and so Bilba offered, “Would you like to hear the story?”

The children sat in a circle among pillows and chairs as they listened, leaning in, completely captivated by Bilba’s storytelling as they munched on soft powdered pumpkin cookies and thick moist slices of pumpkin bread.

She told them everything, well… everything except for Thorin’s courting gestures and about her meeting a creature named Gollum in the belly of the Misty Mountains. Giving them details and answering their questions. Eventually their conversation turned to hobbit culture.

“And we have large families,” Bilba told them. “Sometimes as small as four-”

“That’s a lot!” they sputtered.

Bilba shrugged. “Four is normally the smallest number. Having one or two is rare. Being an only child, I am a rarity.”

“Then what is the largest?” Tinuben asked in-between bites of pumpkin bread. Bilba had lost count of how many slices he had devoured already.

“Hmm,” Bilba rubbed her chin as she recalled, “A couple from a few generations back still holds the record of having fifty children—”

A great noise came up from the elflings as they exclaimed, “So, hobbits _are_ bunnies! Only bunnies can have _that_ many litters!”

“How many babies do you have?” Merildes asked her. “Ten? Twenty?”

“Gracious _no!_ I… I have none…” Bilba answered tentatively. For the first time starting to get uncomfortable. “…at least… none right now… I…”

The instructor took that as her cue. “Alright class, that is enough for today. Class is dismissed!” Nessa stood up, clapping her hands. Bilba was thankful for the intervention. “I shall see you all on the morrow! Remember to turn in your homework assignments!”

None of the elflings looked as if they wanted to go, but dutifully departed, saying their goodbyes as they gathered their belongings and left. Only Bilba, Mivera, Tinuben and the instructor remained behind to tidy up the room.

“It was an honor for you to visit us today, Lady Bilba,” Nessa remarked as she gathered scattered parchments.

“I thank you for having me,” Bilba replied as she finished straightening the throw pillows. “I am sorry for the interruption. I probably threw off your lesson plans-”

Nessa shook her head. “Truly, I feel that my pupils have learned more from you than anything I could have taught them today. By order of the king, we live within our borders and away from the world. So exposing them to different cultures, especially to current events, is something to be encouraged.”

Bilba perked up. “Then if you have me, I like to come again not as a guest, but this time as a participant. I would like to join your class, please!”

Nessa blinked. “But, it’s for elflings… I am sure if you wished to be tutored, the King would provide you with the best teachers.”

“That may be true, but sometimes learning comes best from interacting with others,” Bilba patted the top of Tinuben’s head. “And in this case, the little ones.”

“Well,” The she-elf pondered aloud, “We’re starting to teach them advanced Westron so having you around could be beneficial… and they do seem to be rather taken by you… alright,” Nessa relented with a smile. “I would love to have another adult along. However,” Her tone beckoned caution. “If the King objects to this…”

Not wanting to cause any trouble, Bilba quickly agreed, “I understand.”

“Well then, I shall see you tomorrow, _both_ of you,” Nessa eyed Tinuben especially.  

The elfling let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, _Istoneth_ -Nessa,” he recited dutifully.

Mivera knelt down and whispered to Bilba, “My lady, may I speak with Nessa for a moment?” her eyes trailing to her son.

“Of course,” Bilba took hold of the lad’s shoulder and steered him out the room. “Come stand outside with me for a moment, sweetpea.”

Once outside, Tinuben looked at Bilba with wounded puppy eyes. “Are you coming to my lessons to keep an eye on me?” he wondered. “I don’t break my promises.”

Bilba shook her head. “No one is questioning your honor little one. I am coming along because I want to learn for myself.”

Tinuben wrinkled his nose. “You’re strange,” he told her plainly.

Bilba shrugged. “So I’ve been told.”

“Do you want to go explore the gardens with me?” Tinuben asked out the blue.

This little one really did have the attention span of a tree frog. “We are going to wait for your mother,” Bilba told him sternly. That earned herself another watery puppy look. “Oh, don’t give me those eyes!” she huffed. “They don’t work on me-”

“Ah, I see Tinuben has been found.”

A familiar elf came walking up the corridor. His dark gray hair and bronze armor gleamed in the crystal light as he strolled up the stairs towards the pair.

“Lord Thimben?” Bilba was surprised to see him. “What are you doing here?”

Tinuben’s face lit up at the sight of the gray elf. _“Ada!”_ he cried happily, leaving Bilba’s hold to go jump into the arms of his sire. The elf laughed as he lifted his child high into his arms.

Bilba’s jaw dropped. “He’s your son…?”

All Thimben’s mirth died at her inquiry. “Lady Baggins, I hope he hasn’t been causing you any problems?” he asked, concerned.

Bilba shook his head. “Not at all,” she smiled. “Once he’s been found, Tinuben has been very well-behaved today by helping to keep the little ones in check.”

Tinuben puffed up with pride at his defense.

Thimben’s back straightened. “It’s refreshing to hear that,” he admitted, his fatherly pride showing through. “My son can be a bit of a wild thing at times. Truth to tell, he gets it from his mother’s side-”

“Well just throw me under the stampede!” Mivera exited the room, catching the end of Thimben’s statement. “So, you have finally arrived you slug!”

Bilba’s eyes managed to recognize the resemblance between the three. Tinuben had his father’s dark gray hair and strong jawline, that would become more evident as he grew older and lost baby fat. From Mivera he had inherited her warm brown eyes.

Thimben let out abrupt sigh. “I came as soon as my patrol party returned-”

“Honestly, it’s always about duty with you, isn’t it?” Mivera scoffed, before reminding him, “Well I have my own duties! Duties I had to neglect because I had to search for our son without your help!"

Bilba began to feel uncomfortable as she watched them.

Thimben brushed Mivera off dismissively. “Our son is now found, that is all that matters.”

“That's not all that matters!” Mivera disagreed shortly, but then a defeated look etched her face. “Foolish me. I should know by now that your “duty” comes before anyone or anything else, including kin.”

Tinuben was quiet as his eyes flickered back and forth between his parents.

Bilba was heartbroken. She didn’t expect elves to be like this. They were supposed to be these graceful, compassionate beings hallowed above mere mortals. It was a sad revelation to see them behaving a manner similar to her hobbit neighbors. “Mivera, if it’s okay. I wish to return to my rooms,” Bilba spoke up quietly, hoping to end the spat. “Afterwards you can be dismissed for the rest of the day.”

“Of course, my lady,” Mivera replied quickly. “I thank you.”

Thimben led the way with Tinuben in his arms and Mivera and Bilba followed from behind. Bilba slowed her pace and glanced over at Mivera. “So, you are married to Master Thimben?” she brought up casually as she could, although it still seemed a bit forced.

Mivera shook her head. “Nay, my Lady, I am not.”

“Oh, I see…” Bilba ducked her head embarrassed. “If you don’t want to answer it’s alright.”

“It’s fine, my Lady,” Mivera assured her. “And you’re, right, we are not pledged. Lord Thimben is my _Eredhóneth._ ”

“Y-You undergone the _Nestaóim_?” Bilba blurted, shocked. Then that meant Tinuben was a _Hên Nestadren_ , a child of healing. “What did you need to heal from?” she wondered.

“From loss,” Mivera answered. “First, I had lost my husband. He was a brave archer who had filled in on a patrol duty one summer’s eve, but he was ambushed by spiders… the scouters managed to retrieve his shivered remains for burial.”

Bilba cringed. What an ill fate to suffer!

Mivera took a deep breath before continuing, “I managed to get through the loss of my husband by the unyielding support of my beloved brother, but then…” Her eyes darkened considerably. “…my brother perished as well shortly after. He was killed in an orc raid.”

It greatly saddened Bilba to hear of Mivera’s misfortune. To lose two of the most important people in your life back to back like that would drive a person mad with grief.

“I was fading swiftly and no ship could bare me haste to the West. If I didn’t find a reason to stay bound to Middle Earth, then I would become like a wraith. That’s when my uncle, Feren, in desperation, brought me to that confounded Cullas…” Mivera lifted her eyes to her son. Oblivious to their conversation as he rambled on to his father. “…and Tinuben has saved my life.”

The pieces were aligning. “And so you and Master Thimben performed the _Nestaóim,”_  Bilba confirmed.

Mivera nodded. “Cullas recommended Thimben as the sire of my child. Thimben never took on a spouse,” Mivera rolled her eyes. “As you can see why: he’s such a stiff who’s practically bounded to his duties! But he wanted a child of his own, so that’s how my little whirlwind came to be.”

“But as for you, my Lady…” Mivera’s smile went wide as she brightly cheered, “You are going to have the king as your _Eredhóneth!_ That’s quite a feat! More than one _elleth_ around here would probably commit murder just for the chance of bearing his child!”

“Lord Thranduil has never participated before?” Bilba asked.

Mivera sputtered at her question. “B-By Valar’s grace, of course not; he’s the king!” she gasped. “He cannot allow his seed to float among these halls so aimlessly simply! Any child from his loins can be entitled to the throne! Uh… Lady Bilba? You look ashen so suddenly! Are you-”

“M-My child could become a king or queen?” Bilba asked, aghast. The thought had never really occurred to her before.

Mivera nodded. “I imagine so, if not that then certainly a Lord or Lady of great standing.”

“Doesn’t King Thranduil have a son?” Bilba asked hurriedly.

“Yes, Lord Legolas.”

“Whew!” Bilba breathed with relief.

“Although, Lord Legolas could always die, Valar forbid, or denounce the crown and then your child could become the ruler of the Woodland Realm,” Mivera busted Bilba’s bubble once more.

Bilba face palmed. “Oh, Yavanna…”

Mivera tilted her head to the side. “Why does this bother you so?”

“I haven’t quite realized the magnitude of what the ElvenKing has granted me!” Bilba admitted, feeling completely overwhelmed at the responsibility of raising a future ruler.

“And yet you fail to realize the magnitude of the deed you have done unto His Majesty and his people,” Mivera replied with full sincerity. “After centuries of restless pursuit and strife, the king has been finally appeased, and we, his people, are no longer burden by the flames of war.”

Mivera placed a hand over her chest and bowed towards her.

“I am grateful to you, Lady Bilba, as are many of my kin, for your kindness.”

“I… er… I only thought I was doing the right thing…” Bilba replied awkwardly, growing flustered. “No need to bow to me!”

“Ahh, don’t be so modest my Lady!” Mivera laughed at her fretting. “Besides, the King has been in a notably better mood since returning home with you,” Mivera nudged her playfully. “That’s another relief to us all! Normally he can be a bit crotchety-”

“Mivera,” Thimben warned. Apparently, he had been eavesdropping the entire time.

“But _Nana’s_ right!” their little elfling spoke up. “The King is less grumpy now-”

“Tinuben!”

Mivera huffed at her _Eredhóneth’s_ reprimands. She leaned over and whispered into Bilba’s ear, “If only I knew what could loosen _him_ up-”

Muffled shouts of fury echoed from the higher levels of the kingdom.

“What is that commotion up there?” Bilba wondered aloud.

It sounded harsh in dialect like Khazudul. “Dwarves!” Bilba realized, ready to march right up there and scold them to a new rosy shade when a gloved hand held her back.

Bilba looked up into Thimben’s grim face. “I believe it is unwise to intrude,” he warned.

“I am a dwarf-friend,” Bilba reminded him. “So, I doubt I will be in any danger.”

Mivera looked torn. No doubt internally wrestling with herself whether to follow her Ladyship or to stay with her child.

“Mivera, I’ll be alright-” Bilba tried to say, but her handmaiden shook her head.

“I left you once already. I cannot call myself your servant if I forsake you twice in one day-”

“Mivera, listen to Lady Baggins. You can stay with our son,” Thimben ordered, he passed Tinuben forcefully into his mother’s arms. Raising a hand to his breast, he vowed, “I shall personally escort her Ladyship and keep any harm from befalling her.”

“Yes… you do that,” Mivera replied stonily. She bowed her head to Bilba. “I shall tend to you this evening, my Lady. If you need of anything, call for me.”

Bilba felt strangely troubled as she watched them go. Is that why Mivera despised Cullas; for pairing her with Master Thimben against her will? Bilba had known him to be a stern elf, but now she knew him as an _Eredhóneth_ who took none of his _Cyllartha’s_ feelings into consideration.

Thimben drew her attention. “Come along, Lady Baggins. This way.”

A chilling thought entered Bilba’s mind as she followed behind the tall elf-captain: would Thranduil behave in a manner similar towards her? An insecure flutter wormed around in her stomach at the thought. Only time could tell, but Bilba wondered if it was worth the risk to find out.


	8. Wrangle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba gets invited back to Erebor for Yuletides, but according to Thranduil, the dwarves are scheming.

 

A chill still clung in the air just as the sun begun to rise over the horizon. Thranduil waited patiently by his hearth for the hobbit to rise from slumber. Mivera had already sent forth for breakfast to be brought up to her chambers, so it wouldn’t be long now.

“Lord Thranduil,” Galion greeted him gravely, putting the Silvan ruler immediately on edge. “I have just received word from the Raft-elves of Celebannon. They seem to be having a disagreement with the dwarves and men of Dale.”

Thranduil didn’t even bother to hide his irritation. “Concerning?”

His butler swallowed thickly, trying not to let his jitters get the best of him. “We are bit shorter on the mead than anticipated. The ambassador from King Dáin is causing an uproar. In his own words we are trying to, “stick him like hornets”, my Lord. Our people has ask for your intervention.”

The ElvenKing let loose a long-suffering sigh. “Bring the ambassadors of Dale and Erebor into my hall. I will personally oversee this arrangement.”

Thranduil glanced wistfully at the hobbit’s door as he passed by. It was days like this he lamented being a king. 

And it’s been a circus ever since.

Dale’s ambassador who went by the name of Percy looked uneasy and increasingly wearied at the exchange. “Forgive me, Lord Durnarlig, but do we really need mead more than barley oats at the moment?” he spoke up finally. “Food is scarce for us both. It’s true that a shipment is excepted from the Iron Hills, but that isn’t for another two weeks!”

“A fair point, Lord Percy,” agreed the only sane dwarf of the group. He was an elderly dwarf with wooly white hair and a long-forked beard. While side glaring at his associate, he stated firmly, “His majesty cannot give a resource he doesn’t have-”

“Or a resource he does have and refuse to share of it!” Durnarlig retorted.  

Thranduil didn’t bother to reply at this point as he massaged his temple. These dwarves would be the death of him, he was sure of it. Since dawn, they had been at this table haggling over a quantity of mead he did not possess in his inventory.

And that’s when she came in, being led by Captain Thimben. Thranduil sat straighter in his chair.

“Pardon the intrusion, my Lord, but Lady Baggins has insisted on coming here.”

The hobbit stepped forward. The seamstress has once again worked her magic. Bilba was dressed in a deep purple gown. The sleeves were long and narrow, and the neckline scooping with buttons down the front under her bust. Her hair was platted back into one thick braid with amethyst flower jewels pinned into it.

“ElvenKing,” Bilba bowed with a curtsy.

 _“Elvellon,_ what brings yo-”

“Lassie!” a dwarf interrupted Thranduil. He got to his feet with a wide grin, rushing over to her. “You’re safe!” His broad frame fully enveloping her into a hug. “How good it is to see you! It’s been so long!”

“Oh Balin, bless your heart!” The hobbit giggled gleefully as she squeezed him back. “It’s only been a couple of days!” she laughed.

“I assure you how longer it feels!” the dwarf pulled back, but his hands remained in place on her shoulders. “We were so worried for you! The others will be glad to know you are well!”

Looking perplexed, Bilba tilted her head to the side. “Why would you perceive me to be in any danger?” She asked. “Lord Thranduil has been nothing but the most generous host.”

Thranduil’s lips quirked upward at the corners, feeling honored by her kind words.

Another dwarf got up. The largest and bulkiest of the three. “Don’t hog her, brother!” he shoved Balin aside to embrace Bilba as well.

The hobbit smirked. “Don’t tell me you were worried too, Dwalin?”

He spoke in a gruff voice. “I’d say concerned is the right word, and why wouldn’t we worry for yer welfare when you have been seduced away by the elf bas-”

“Dwalin!”

Apparently, subtlety was not his skillset.

“Fine… the ElvenKing,” he corrected himself reluctantly.

Thranduil felt his annoyance leave him as the watched the hobbit pinch the dwarf in retaliation. “Don’t be silly!” Bilba scorned him. “I was not seduced! I came here on my own accord!”

Dawlin raised his bushy brows. “He promised you a ‘reward’, right?”

The hobbit flushed red. “I-I… I won’t talk about that right now!”

“Still sounds like wooing to me-”

“Well, it’s not! And never mind my private business!” she told him sternly and glanced over at Balin to make sure the same warning applied to him. Changing the subject, Bilba asked, “Now care to tell me what was all that ruckus was about? I can hear you from five floors down!”

“Not us,” His eyes trailing to the other dwarf, Lord Durnarlig, who was hurriedly making his way over. “All Balin and I came for was to negotiate a month’s supply of grain-”

“Lady Bilba, what a privilege it is to meet you once more!” the dwarf exclaimed.

“O-Oh, Lord Durnarlig…” the hobbit tried to ease back. It stirred something in Thranduil as he watched the dwarf grab her hands reverently. “S-So why are you arguing over mead?”

Durnarlig patted her hands. “It’s a much-needed resource along with the grains, my Lady. The King Under the Mountain has purposefully asked for it. However, the ElvenKing claims he does not have the quantity we need, but I, for one, do not plan to leave without it!”

“I am sure His Majesty would gladly give onto you what he promised. Until then, his word alone should be trusted, along with mine!” Bilba responded. “Tell King Dain that, I, Bilbania Baggins-Took, Dwarf-friend, swears an oath on the ElvenKing’s behalf that in due time he shall deliver onto you what you are promised.”

Noble words, Thranduil thought, but empty. The dwarves would never agree to such terms-

“Very well,” The dwarf bowed his head to her. “Your word I will bring to my King.”

Thranduil blinked, wondering if he had misheard.

 _“Now_ you agree after hours of roundabout debate?” Sadron, his advisor asked with disbelief, very much speaking for the rest in assembly.

Erebor’s ambassador turned to him and replied, “Lady Bilbania speaks on your behalf. Her word is enough to take back to His Majesty, King Under the Mountain. Now that it’s promised,” he sat back down in his chair. “Let’s continue our negotiations with the barley and lumber exports. Mahal knows you have plenty of trees you can spare!”

Within the hour, they were done. The contracts were written and signed.

“Come Lassie,” the one called Balin motioned her over enthusiastically. “Today you get to serve as a witness to our arrangements.”

Bilba shuffled over and signed her name several times over in the witness columns stationed at the bottom of each page. Once she was done, Balin rolled up the scrolls and sealed them.

“I think it would be wise to have Madam Mercy join the proceedings in the future,” Percy suggested, looking visibly relieved at the idea. “Her presence is mightily welcomed thing!”

“Do not underestimate yourself, Master Percy, I am not needed as much as you believe.”

Percy shook his head. “I think you should take your own words into account.”

A nervous smile twitched on her lips. “Please give King Bard my regards.”

“Absolutely!” Percy agreed jovially. “He will be relieved to know you are well.”

The hobbit sighed. “And why else I shouldn’t?” she asked reluctantly.

Percy glanced over to where the ElvenKing was sitting, staring back at him unblinkingly. Goosebumps appeared upon his skin. “Y-You are right. Silly of me!”

Sadron arose from his seat and came to stand before the hobbit. As if his neck was bound in iron, he inclined his head to her stiffly. “That could have escalated out of hand quickly…” Sadron muttered. “I thank you, Madam Hobbit for your intervention.”

The hobbit looked flustered. “O-O f course.”

Sadron said nothing else as he sidestepped her and departed the room.

“Lass, we hate to leave you here,” Balin said mournfully.

“Then maybe we shouldn’t! Bilba, why don’t you come back with us to Erebor?” Dwalin suggested.

Their pleas alarmed Thranduil as he listened from afar.

“No, I can’t…” the hobbit answered apologetically. “I will remain in the Woodland Realm for the Winter Solstice.”

Balin looked disappointed. “Pity that. Ori and Bofur wanted you to return for Yuletides.”

“Oh?” Bilba grew excited. “I wasn’t aware that dwarves celebrated Yuletides!” she exclaimed. “Us hobbits celebrate it each year as well!”

Balin waved her down. “Normally, we don’t, but we shall for race relations with the people of Dale.”

“It’s still a wonderful reason!” she clapped her hands. “And that’s certainly a step in the right direction for us all!”

Balin nodded. “Aye, aye! That, and we really all need a little cheer in these trying times. Bofur would have come today, but he’s busy at work along with Bifur to repair and create as many toys as possible for the children of men. The carousel in Dale is now rebuilt.”

“Really?! How lovely of them to do so! Bless them!”

“Aye,” Percy agreed. “She’s a beauty. The little ones are always on it. Going round and round all day long. It really helps lift their spirits.”

“I wish I could see it, I bet it’s a lovely sight to behold!” Bilba breathed wistfully.

Dwalin threw his head back and laughed. “At your size, you probably could ride on it yourself!”

“Oh, you!” Bilba playfully whacked him on the shoulder.

Balin watched the hobbit with a calculating glint in his eye that put Thranduil back on edge. “Well… if you want to stay in the Woodland Realm, it’s alright, we respect your wishes, but can we borrow you a few days for Yuletides?” he compromised.

“Certainly!” the hobbit agreed without hesitation. “I think Yuletides is a few days after the Winter Solstice, so it shouldn’t be a problem!”

Balin beamed. “It’s decided then-“

“Splendid to hear you will be joining us!” Lord Durnarlig butted in again, causing Bilba to cringe, appearing more and more like a startled rabbit by the second.

It was obvious that his little elf-friend was not fond of him. Dawlin must have sensed it as well. He stepped closer to Bilba, almost protectively. “You alright? You are skittish as a deer…”

Bilba tried to smile. “I-I’m fine, thank you.”

“Do you need an escort?” Lord Durnarlig asked Bilba. “King Dain will provide only the best for our dwarf-friend. Or better yet, come back with us this very day!”

Eyes blazing like fire, Thimben stepped forward. His shadow overcasting the dwarf. “The elves of the Woodland Realm are more than capable to protect Lady Baggins, Master Durnarlig!” He injected firmly.

The look the three dwarves gave him bordered on murderous and Lord Percy began to ease away. Bilba held up her hands. “Alright, that’s enough lads, please!”

Thranduil finally had managed to extract himself from his servant and was making his way over. “I thank you for coming here today. I hope this exchange will continue to strengthen the bonds between our borders. Please go meet with my accountant to verify the quantity of grain and other necessities that you will be departing with tonight.”

Percy was the first to recover. “Indeed. We will go see to your gracious provisions, my Lord, farewell ElvenKing,” he bowed to him before departing.

The dwarves exchanged the same courtesy, well, Lord Balin did. The other two grudgingly agreed with his words.

“Farewell Bilbania,” Balin gently bumped his forehead against hers. “Stay well, my Lady.”

“As long as you do the same, Balin. Don’t overwork yourself.”

Balin huffed humorously. “With this lot, my work is neverending!” he lamented.

“We look forward to your visitation,” Lord Durnarlig bowed to her. “King Dáin will be most pleased to hear you will be arriving the upcoming weeks.”

Bilba curtsied to him. “Give the king my regards.”

"Most certainly."

Next she turned to bump heads with Dwalin. “See you later, _Nadad.”_

“Stay well,” he leaned in and whispered, “And don’t have too much fun, _Namad-”_

“Dwalin!”

A few more words were exchanged before the ambassadors of Erebor also departed to Celebannon. Thimben stepped forward. “Forgive me for speaking out of place, my Lord,” he apologized quickly, along with a bow. “My passion ran too deep...”

“You were not wrong,” Thranduil replied. Turning to his captain, he commanded,” Lady Bilbania’s safety is our top priority. You will lead the progression.”

“Yes, my Lord,” he bowed once more and recited. “I live to serve the house of Elmo in all ways.”

“Walk with me,” Thranduil told Bilba. She fell into quiet steps beside him as they exited out the conference room and walked down the corridor. “So, how was your appointment with Cullas?” he asked her casually.

“It went well. I learned a lot,” Bilba cleared her throat sheepishly. “A little _too_ much to be honest.”

Thranduil laughed, feeling the weight of the day rolling off his shoulders. “That’s Cullas! He’s very professional when the occasion calls for it, but at other times he’s, well… let’s say he’s quite a character.”

“Yes, that’s the gentlest way of putting it, yes,” Bilba agreed. “Still, I wish you could have been there…” she trailed, looking off to the side, feeling incredibly silly. “Sorry,” She repented. “I understand if you couldn’t-”

“No, I am the one who is sorry, Lady Bilbania,” Thranduil apologized, regret evident in his tone. “It was my every intention to be at your side this morning. Unfortunately, I was preoccupied,” he finished with notable disdain.

Bilba’s face instantly brightened as she remembered meeting her longtime dwarf friends. “Well, I suppose the end result was worth it,” she hummed pleasantly. “At this rate, you shall become great allies with the dwarves one day!” the smile fell from her lips as she noticed the stiffness spreading across on Thranduil’s face. “What?”

“Are you jesting?” Thranduil asked her quietly, if not contemptuously.

“Uh, no, why?”

“Mead is our lowest supply,” He informed her. “Mead also happened to be the main ingredient in dwarven malt ales. The elves of my realm prefer fine wine than to beers so it was little wonder why mead was in short supply…” Thranduil trailed, his eyes narrowing. “I suspect they knew this. Why else would thy pick such a scarce resource to haggle over when all they need to do is bring a shipment from the Iron Hills?”

“Perhaps you are simply overthinking things, my Lord,” Bilba tried to smooth things over. “I’m sure the dwarves had their reason, but it’s resolved now. That’s all that matters.”

Thranduil’s eyes flickered down to her. His face neutral and smooth as a statue, but there was a shrewd, calculating look in his eyes. “It was resolved only by your presence,” he quipped. “The ambassador argued right until you arrived…” Thranduil’s eyes widen slightly. “…unless that was his purpose all along…”

Bilba cocked her head to the side. “Are you saying King Dáin’s ambassadors deliberately created an uproar just to get my attention? So that I may intervene on a private discussion, of which I had no idea what it entailed, just so they could invite me back for Yuletides at Dale, but it’s really all some elaborate ruse to steal me back from the ElvenKing and his folk?” she broke out into laughter, her giggles echoing throughout the carven. “What silliness!”

Thranduil paused, giving her words considerable thought. “You’re right… it does sound too cunning for a dwarf.”

“Careful, your majesty,” the hobbit rebuked, all humor suddenly gone. “These are the same dwarves that escaped your inescapable dungeons right under your nose, and the same dwarves who invented the Whirly-Twirlers against your army’s arrows.”

The ElvenKing had stopped walking, so did everyone in their company. Their eyes wide as they watched the scene unfold.  

“That advanced weaponry was from the dwarves of the Iron Hills,” Thranduil pointed out. “As for Thorin Oakenshield’s company, they had your assistance,” Thranduil raised an inquisitive eyebrow at the hobbit. “And to this day I do not know how you managed such a feat.”

Bilba chuckled awkwardly, looking nervous all of a sudden. Her hand unconsciously enclosed upon the locket hanging around her neck. “O-Oh, come now!” she started walking again ahead. In two strides Thranduil had already caught up with her. “The company of Thorin Oakenshield was very determined to reach the mountain by Durin’s Day. I am sure that even without my intervention they would have eventually found an escape or buttered you up into letting them go!”

Thranduil couldn’t contain his snort. “I’d imagine Thorin Oakenshield would rather have been thrown armless into a spider’s nest than to appease me,” he shook his head in disbelief. “You think too highly of them.”

“I would be a poor dwarf-friend if I didn’t,” Bilba replied unblushingly.

Her response irked Thranduil greatly. Making his displeasure known, he recited, “Such naivety is unbecoming.”

At his remark, the hobbit’s head whipped over at him. “Take that back!” she demanded. “I’m not ignorant, your majesty, nor was I born yesterday!”

The elves passing in the halls stopped to stare at them. Their faces shocked that anyone would have the gall to disagree with their king, let alone get into a full-blown argument with him.

Thranduil drew himself up to his full height, giving him the bearing of a cobra spreading its hood. He declared imperiously, “I have known dwarves far longer than you ever could. So, unless you can convince me otherwise then no, I shall not.”  

“Hmph!” Bilba huffed, her eyes ablaze and hands on her hips. “You may know of them, but you don’t know them!” she retorted fearlessly. “And that’s the problem right there!”

The hobbit stuck her nose in the air and marched off, leaving Thranduil and the gathered crowd flabbergasted. Clinging to the tatters of his shredded pride, Thranduil turned to glare at the uninvited onlookers. His people scattered quickly, but as soon as they thought their king was out of earshot, they whispered furiously between themselves.

To his growing annoyance, the hobbit refused to speak another word to him for the rest of the day. That’s when Thranduil realized that if the dwarves didn’t finish him off, the hobbit certainly would.


	9. Affinity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba and Thranduil reconcile and hang out.

It was raining the next day. How poetic. The seamstress had dressed her in a dark gray, sleeveless gown with a steel polished headdress to reflect her aloof and angry persona today. Bilba sat beside her window watching the raindrops splatter against the glass as her mind drifted aimlessly. Behind her was Mivera. The elf-maid hovered over her anxiously.

“Why are you so jittery?” Bilba asked her finally.

Mivera sighed. “The king is in a foul mood today,” she admitted. 

“Oh, Pssh posh, let him seethe!” Bilba retorted. “He’s still so… so arrogant! It’s like he learned nothing at all this past month!”

“Our king has changed,” Mivera insisted. “Just not the way you see it. Through loss, we grow. It’s a painful growth, but without it, we wouldn’t be who we are.”

Bilba crossed her arms. “What loss does he know?” she challenged.

“His wife,” Mivera answered. “After the tragic loss of our Queen, Lord Thranduil had to raise his son from infancy alone. He said it was all because of the prince that he managed to carry on. And because of his experience, the King wanted to give others such hope and a chance of healing from the loss of loved ones. Like he helped to save me.”

Bilba immediately regretted her callous remark. “What happened to the Queen?” she asked quietly.

“She died honorably in battle,” Mivera answered. “But I will say no more on the matter. It’s up to Lord Thranduil if he wishes to explain in further detail.”

* * *

On endless hours into the night, Bilba miserably tossed and turned in bed. Never mind that the feather mattress was the softest bed she had slept in since Beorn’s wool sack, sleep continued to evade her as Mivera’s words replayed over and over in her head.

The ElvenKing has been making an honest effort, Bilba realized, and she just had to go and salt his wounds. Bilba reached out for her locket on the nightstand and squeezed it the palm of her hand for comfort.

It was golden locket in the shape of a heart and woven with mithril. Fit for a dwarven princess. Once belonging to Thorin’s mother, in fact. It was forged with a special magic that would only open to the touch of its rightful owner. And it was the safest place she could hold her magic trinket.

Bilba ran her finger along the sides. At her touch the locket clicked open. The light from the moon reflected on the solid gold band in the center. Nothing would have been possible without this ring. Bilba thought about telling the Wizard about the ring she had found in the gloom of Gollum’s cave, but decided against it. Her lucky trinket belonged to her, and to her alone.

 _“Guren níniatha…”_ Bilba’s ears perked up at the deep, masculine voice. _“…n'i lû n'i a-govenitham!”_ A melodious song filled with the deepest regret at his loss. Like a father who had failed to protect his young and asking forgiveness, but expected none.

Bilba slid off the bed, stumbling to her feet. It was a long way down for one short as she. She shifted into a robe before following exiting her chamber. Bilba followed the voice across down a winding path, much like a hallway, that led out to a common room with an indoor pool. When she crossed the threshold, the singing came to an immediate halt.

To her shock, it was the ElvenKing, standing with his back to her. He was alone and crownless. “So, you have found your way here…” Thranduil turned to her slowly. A knowing smirk spreading across his lips. Lips neither full nor thin. A perfect look on the oval face he bore. “…or perhaps you’ve been here before?” he teased.

Bilba flushed. So she had, but that was beside the point. “I…I heard you singing…” she commented, ducking her head shyly.

His grin fading in an instant. “I see…” he murmured with concern, “I apologize if I have disturbed you-”

“Oh! No, no! Not at all, it’s fine!” Bilba fretted quickly. “I actually liked it! You have a lovely voice by the way!”

“I thank you.”

“But, it sounded really sad… just who were you apologizing to?”

Thranduil’s arched a thick brow. “You can understand Sindarin?” he asked, intrigued.

Bilba waved off his assumption. “Eh, no. I can read it better than speaking or comprehending it. I just… I don’t know… I understood, or rather felt your feelings conveying through the song…” She felt like an idiot, but she smiled up at him anyhow. “Sometimes I think it’s possible for people to understand one another, even without words.” 

Thranduil gazed down at her thoughtfully. “You are wise beyond your years,” he commented. “Yes, I was indeed singing a lament to my kin. Both to the living and to the dead…” His shoulders sagged slightly. “… I only wish I could do more.”

Her heart went out to Thranduil. Bilba remembered how Thorin carried the burden of leadership on his shoulders. The hopes, dreams, and even the very lives of his people rested on him. Within his power or not, Thorin took every loss personally. So Thranduil, even being the king of a different race, was no exception to the great love he held for his people, and the overwhelming guilt he felt at their losses.

“You already bear the weight of the crown, my Lord. Don’t carry the weight of the dead as well!”

The ElvenKing shook his head, eyes darkening. “The two are inseparable… my soldiers were under my command. Therefore, I am responsible for their fate…if I had known you would return Araseth’s gems, I wouldn’t have marched them to unnecessary deaths.”

Bilba was alarmed by his confession. “B-But ElvenKing, without you and your brave people, we would have been taken over by the enemy!”

Looking increasingly wearied, Thranduil replied, “The sacrifices of my people only prolongs the inevitable… Man’s Bane will continue to haunt us all…”

His eyes glossed over, looking to the right, but somehow Bilba could tell he was not looking at the wall but far to the east, into the lands of Mordor, where the Dark Lord dwelled. Bilba shuddered. Her hand grasping the locket around her neck for comfort.

“Isildur has cursed us all to fall once more under the shadow…” he trailed.

“ElvenKing, I am sorry,” Bilba blurted. “I don’t take back my words,” she clarified quickly. “But I am sorry I had let the sun go down on my anger and for my anger to control me.”

The ElvenKing turned to her with kind eyes, looking almost relieved. “Only if you can forgive me, _Elvellon._ My tongue towards my allies is indeed in need of a good polishing.”

Bilba’s eyes widen with relief at hearing her elven title. “You… you really still consider me a friend?”

He gave her an incredulous look. “You believe our friendship would end over a mere disagreement?” Thranduil asked her, hurt evident.

The hobbit ducked her head, looking off to the side, obviously embarrassed. “I guess it is a silly thing to assume…” Bilba admitted. “I hope to get to know you better, my Lord. At least in that way, I will not misjudge your character again.” She bowed, ready to make her exit when Thranduil called out to her.

“Stay, won’t you?” he implored. His offer made Bilba stop in mid-step. “Let us indulge in some fine wine and finer company.” He poured her a glass and thinned it down with water from another pitcher, before handing it to her.

Bilba took it with hesitation. She must have made a face because Thranduil laughed.

“This is Dorwinion wine. Unless I dilute it, I doubt you will be able to stand!” He then poured his cup to the rim. “I shall drink my full cup until you begin to bear.”

Bilba took a hesitant sip. She smacked her lips at the surprisingly potent taste. “What do you mean until I bear?” 

“It’s traditional in my realm for husbands to cease all alcoholic drinks until our mates give birth.” 

“Sounds more like self-preservation,” Bilba sniggered. “I imagine your elf-maidens would not look kindly upon you to drink in front of her.”

Thranduil clinked his goblet against her cup. “Much truth in what you speak!” he laughed.

* * *

The hours passed by and somehow Bilba found herself propped up against Thranduil on the woolly rug in front of his fireplace.

“He held out his arms and to the sky and cried, “Oh Great Ilúvatar, give me something beautiful!” and my mother, at that moment, lost her grip on the ledge above and fell right into my father’s arms.”

Bilba fell into a state of uncontrollable giggles. “Oh, my Lord, surely you jest!” her cheeks rosy from laughing so much throughout the evening and from too many cups of the watered down Dorwinion wine. 

Thranduil smiled indulgently down at her. “It’s a true story, my dear,” he took a sip of wine, it was his eighth cup, and let out a contented hum. Not affected at all by the potency of wine he consumed over the past few hours. “So, now you must tell me in turn how your parents met.”

“Ah!” Bilba staggered a little as she sat up straight. “They grew up together. My mother and father always knew each other from a distance. She lived in Tuckborough while my father lived further west in Hobbiton,” Bilba paused drain her cup. “But their first meeting was during a birthday party. My mother accepted a dare from her brothers to put toads in my father’s trousers!”

“How did that turn out?”

“He screamed like a lass,” Bilba snickered. “Stripping off his pants and ran about butt-naked!”

The ElvenKing chuckled.

“My father always said from that moment on he was fascinated by my mother because she didn’t act like a normal proper lass. She climbed trees, wore trousers in the summer months and played in the woods with wooden swords. As she got older, my mother talked of maps and distant places. ”

“Tell me, were you like her?”

A happy smile spread across Bilba’s face. “My father said I was her twin in all except for hair color. My fawn colored hair came from my grandmother, Lauren Took.”

With the pleasant buzz from the alcohol warming her belly, Bilba slumped back down against Thranduil. “Years later, my father, who wanted to impress my Ma, went along on her last adventure to so call ‘to protect her’, Ha! She ended up saving him thrice, but ended up losing her prized sword!”

“Hm, I think she got a greater prize,” Thranduil commented.

“That she did,” Bilba agreed. “Well, after that fiasco, my father decided to put his true skills to work by designing and building Bag-End in Hobbiton for her to live in with him. He did a marvelous job. It rivaled the simals of the Brandybucks. And since my parents passing, it’s been the coveted home of those greedy Sackville-Baggines!”

Thranduil frowned. “Are your relatives trying to steal your home?” he asked concerned.

Bilba snorted at the understatement. “They always complain about how selfish I am.”

“You and the word 'selfish' does not belong in the same sentence.”

“You flatter me…”

“I only speak the truth.”

“Well, let’s just say they would not agree with what you perceive to be true…” Bilba sighed wearily. “They complain about me being an unwedded lass without children. One who is taking up all that room they could be using instead with their growing family. The nerve! As if they know the future and that I would never bear children!”

The ElvenKing appeared startled for a moment. “Will you return to the Shire with the child you bear from me?” he asked as if the thought never occurred to him.

Bilba’s eyes flew open. “Gracious, no! My kin would never accept an unmarried lass with a babe. Even if we never laid with each other, how would the other hobbits even know or begin to understand the complexity of our situation?”

Thranduil seemed to deflate as if he was letting out a breath of relief. “I see… you do make a fair point,” he began to run his fingers through her hair. Bilba hummed contently at the feeling of her scalp being massaged. “So, what shall you tell our child about our first meeting?” he asked casually.

“I don’t know,” Bilba replies sleepily. “What would you say?”

“I will tell them how their mother stole the keys to my dungeon,” Thranduil sent her a shrewd look.

“M-My Lord!” Bilba gasped. “Well… t-the guards were drunk into a stupor!”

“I will get you to tell me one day yet,” Thranduil promised, before compromising, “Then perhaps you can tell me how did you have the misfortune of meeting Thorin Oakenshield?”

Bilba rolled her eyes at the thought. “Through the misfortune of having Gandalf as an old family friend,” she supplied as if that explained everything, and it did. “At our very first meeting, Thorin was already several hours late claiming to have gotten lost twice. But gracious, _how?_ I live at the end of the lane at Bag End! How can one get lost on one road?!” She shook her head. “And then he had the gall to belittle me by calling me a barmaid as an insult! So, I decided to do what a barmaid does best with an unruly patron!”

A smile curving at his lips, Thranduil asked, “And that would be?”

“I chased him out of my smial with my rolling pin!”

Thranduil let out a deep belly laugh. “And so the little bunny bares her fangs!”

Her nose twitched with irritation. “Yessh!” she grumbled. “Well, needless to say that Thorin didn’t like me for a while after that incident… but at least he was thoroughly convinced that I could take care of myself!”

Thranduil twirled the empty goblet in his hand. “There are many sides to you,” He told her appreciatively.

“As to you, ElvenKing. From what you’ve told me earlier this evening, you sounded like you were a mischievous little rascal back in the day!”

The sly smile on Thranduil’s face grew into a lazy grin. “Let me assure you that it was not from the lack of discipline. My bottom was always tender from my father’s paddle.”

“And that still failed to stop you?” Bilba guessed.

Thranduil shrugged unblushingly. “I told my father that I was too sore to sit so I might as well be up and about!”

Bilba rolled her eyes. “And you were sarcastic too, just lovely… between the two of us, I think we may create a little orc! My father’s old saying is ‘The grief you bestow on your parents returns twice fold with your own’.”

Thranduil shrugged. “Legolas wasn’t like me. He turned out to be a good, and well-mannered elfling as he grew older. But according to the karmic laws of the universe, it is more than I deserved.”

Bilba laughed.

“But if there was one flaw,” Thranduil continued. “It would be that Legolas was far too clingy. Though I can understand why… he wouldn’t let his one remaining parent out of his sight.”

Bilba immediately fell sober at his comment. “What happened to his mother?” she always wanted to know so badly but never had the courage to ask him so directly before.

There was an immediate shift in the room. Like a spring coiling back with a snap, Thranduil’s relaxed and lethargic demeanor vanished as he sat up straight as a board. Bilba didn’t expect him to answer, but he did so quietly, “Araseth died a long time ago defending her son and people.”

Something did not sit right with Bilba for Thranduil to leave himself out of the equation. “Not for you as well?” 

“Before she died, Araseth had been terribly angry with me…” he confessed with great sadness. “We had opposing views on how best to lead our people and even shorter tempers. We both said things… things I wish I could take back,” Thranduil sighed mournfully. “I only wish we haven’t parted in such anger.” 

Bilba could not begin to imagine the agony Thranduil felt of never being able to reconcile with the one you love.

“Were you able to make amends with Thorin, son of Thráin, before his passing?” the ElvenKing asked her, although there was a hint in his tone that he already knew the answer. 

Bilba nodded slowly. “Yes, we had. Just barely,” Peering into the fire before her, Bilba used the iron picker to shift around the brittle bits of wood left in the furnace. “On the battlefield, right after killing Azog, Thorin reconciled with me at death’s door…” A sad wistful smile settled on her lips. “And the Dwarf I met at BagEnd, was back.”

Thranduil observed her quietly for a moment before declaring, “You loved him.”

“More than I should have,” Bilba sniffled, trying to hold back the tears sweltering within her and failed as her sight became blurry. “No matter how much I yearned to be away from the Lonely Mountain, I think I left a piece of my heart buried in the deep tomb of the Kings!” she cried.

She only had blink and Thranduil was leaning over her.

“Shhhh, be at peace,” Thranduil traced his thumb across her plump cheeks. The moisture from her tears acting as a lubricate across her skin.

“Worry not my Lord,” Bilba smiled bravely. “The wound is becoming a scar.”

“But it's tender still-”

Bilba pulled back. “It’ll toughen up soon enough,” she assured him. “Lord Thranduil, please listen to what I am about to say…” Being full of conviction, Bilba told him sternly, “Whatever happened and whatever was said between you and Araseth… if given the opportunity, I wholeheartedly believe that she would have made peace with you.”

Their eyes were locked. Bilba could see the raw emotion seeping through Thranduil’s façade. The elf turned his eyes away guiltily, unable to look at the hobbit anymore. “There’s no way to know for sure…” he trailed, his voice full of uncertainty.

“Yes, she would have,” Bilba repeated firmly.

“How would you know?” Thranduil demanded testily.

To Bilba ears, the ElvenKing sounded almost too afraid to hope. “Because you have told me, at least twice indirectly, that I remind you of Araseth,” she replied earnestly. “If I and her are so much alike then she would have forgiven you, just as I would have. Hn…” Bilba paused as a thought just came to her. “…so maybe that’s why Araseth was angry…”

Thranduil turned to her. “Why?”

“Maybe it was because she truly believed that it was the best way to protect you from yourself, and you couldn’t understand at the time.”

Thranduil paused thoughtfully, he frowned as he contemplated her words. “…I never thought of it that way before,” he admitted. After a moment, he let out a long breath, _“Le hannon, Elvellon.”_

A Silence fell into the room. Bilba shifted with growing uncertainty. She got up from the warmth of the rug, staggering just a bit as she placed down her goblet on a nearby table. “I bid you goodnight, my Lord,” she yawned.

“You have lessons to attend to tomorrow, correct?” Thranduil mentioned.

Bilba wasn't drunk enough not to realize she hadn't told Thranduil about her arrangement with the teacher. "How do you know?"

"Lady Nessa came two days ago, asking permission to tutor you. I agreed," Thranduil smiled. "I think it'll be good for you."

Bilba stretched her arms above her head. “But I may be at a late start. I hope Nessa forgives me...”

“I am sorry for keeping you from slumber. I shouldn't ha-”

Bilba waved him off cheerfully. “I’ve enjoyed our evening together, my Lord, and I learned a lot about you. I hope it will continue into the future…?” she trailed off hopefully.

Thranduil nodded. “It certainly shall. I have enjoyed your company as well. Goodnight, Lady Bilbania.”

* * *

True to his word their nightly meetings didn’t stop. Over the past two weeks, it was like clockwork. They would spend their days apart, Thranduil with his advisors and Bilba with her classmates, but in the evening they always found themselves together before the great hearth in Thranduil’s chamber.

Occasionally Bilba would save Thranduil some treats she would bake for the elflings. Unless she put some aside for him there would be none left. “I made these especially for you today,” Bilba brought in the treats. “It’s a family recipe passed down for six generations, walnut honey rolls!”

Thranduil’s eyes gleamed longingly at the sweet-smelling cakes in her basket. “Are you trying to fatten me up, hobbit?”

“Well you are looking a little skinny there,” Bilba playful poked at his side, only to wince back in pain. It was like tapping steel.

“How were your lessons for today?” Thranduil asked casually while taking a pastry. He bit into it, chewing slowly, savoring every bite.

“Th-they were good…” Bilba trailed. Watching Thranduil eat, especially eating something she had baked, seemed to distract her somehow. “I got a jump start on this week’s lesson plan thanks to the elflings. They truly dote upon me like I'm their underclassman.”

Thranduil licked the icing off the tip of his fingers with his pink tongue.  Bilba didn’t realize she was still staring rudely at him until those pale blue eyes flickered to her. “Utterly delicious,” Thranduil wiped his mouth elegantly. “So, does this mean you have finished your homework assignment?”

“Well, that’s the reason why I came here tonight,” Bilba clumsily took out her parchment. “I wanted to ask you about the difference between the phrases, _Man anírog_ and _Man anírol_ , my Lord-”

“Thranduil,” he interjected suddenly.

Bilba paused. “…Pardon?”

“We have been long acquainted,” He declared. “I think we should, at least in private, drop the titles.”

“Oh,” Bilba’s face brightened. “Then please call me, Bilba!”

“Bilbania,” Thranduil countered, his gaze softening. “I like saying your whole name.”

The hobbit flushed. “T-Thranduil…”

“Yes?”

“The difference between the two phases?” she asked again, hoping to shift the topic or else she may faint. “It’s a little confusing for me since they both literally mean the same.”

“You are almost correct,” Thranduil told her. “However, _Man anírog_ is an informal way of asking, whilst _Man anírol_ is formal.”

That made sense. “Oh, okay.”

“So, in public, you would ask me, _Man anírol_ , while in private you will say, _Man anírog_.”

“Oh!” Bilba thanked him and hurriedly took back her parchment to scribble down her answers. “Done!” Bilba cheered happily.

“Very good. Now that is settled I wish to teach you a new phrase. Repeat after me…”

Bilba listened to the words Thranduil spoke. Although she didn’t know exactly what he said, she knew just enough, and that mischievous glint in his eye made her uneasy.

“You’re teasing me,” she declared.

“No, I’m teaching you,” Thranduil insisted.

“I will never repeat what you just told me, _ever_ ,” Bilba declared. “At least not until I look it up in a dictionary!”

Thranduil tilted back his head and laughed. “That’s very wise of you, but no fun at all!”

“You are such a rascal!” Bilba pinched his side playfully which was hard to do. Given his thick robes and lack of body fat. “When I find out what you tried to make me say I will-”

The ElvenKing suddenly flinched, his whole body going rigid and his face contorted with surprised pain.  Thranduil’s hand went flying to his cheek as he cringed back, a hissing sound leaving his lips.

Bilba was alarmed. “Th-Thranduil! Are you alright-”

“Depart from me at once,” he ordered urgently. The ElvenKing turned his back to her. His hair falling like a curtain around his face.

“W-what? But why-”

“Do as I say!”

“I-I am sorry!” Bilba begged. “If I have hurt you or have angered you!”

“Bilbania, listen to me,” Thranduil pleaded gravely, successfully silencing the panicked hobbit.

“Y-Yes?”

“For the next three days and three nights. You must not disturb me, understand? For the next three days,” Thranduil repeated.

“I… yes, my Lord,” Bilba submitted as she bowed her head.

“Good. Now return to your rooms at once.”

Bilba collected her books and scuttled out the room as quickly as she could. Bilba risked a look back, though, before she exited his chambers. Unfortunately, the only thing she managed to catch were the tail ends of Thranduil’s robe as he retrieved further into his bedroom.


	10. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil continues to be absent, so Bilba decides to investigate.

Three days had gone by and there was nothing to be seen of the ElvenKing. Bilba was beginning to worry sick by the fifth day, but life went on. It was right after lunch when the class took a recess at the indoor gardens. A lovely retreat with a river flowing through the park. It was located on the bottom floor in the center of the Woodland Palace. 

The children were off playing among the flower hedges while the two adults, Bilba and Nessa, sat off to the side at the base of a tree watching them play.

“You are doing well,” Nessa commented to Bilba as she scrolled through her completed assignments. When the hobbit failed to respond, she called again. “Lady Bilba, did you not hear me?”

“Huh,” Bilba blinked, coming back to reality. “Oh, what were you saying? I am sorry. My mind wandered a bit…”

“I said you are excelling in your studies. I am very proud of you.”

Bilba inclined her head to her, “It’s all thanks to you, _Istoneth_ -Nessa, my little tutors and to…” she trailed.

Nessa peered down at her worriedly. “You are distracted, why?”

“It’s… it’s the ElvenKing,” Bilba admitted. “Why does he seal himself away like this? It’s been five days! And every time I ask Mivera about it, all she says is ‘give him more time’, but how much times does His Majesty needs? I don’t even know what is wrong!” Bilba felt bad for unloading her problems onto Nessa, but she hoped that perhaps the elf-maid could illuminate the situation.

Her instructor grew still. “I… I’m afraid Mivera is correct,” Nessa answered regrettably. “There’s nothing we can do for our King except await his return. It shouldn’t be long now.”

Tinuben came running from the thickets and plopped down into Bilba’s lap. “Nemir’s being a jerk!” he announced.

“Am not, you cry baby!” the eldest marched over, with the rest of the elflings trailing him. “You lost the draw and now you have to be the orc!”

“But I don’t wanna be the orc!” Tinuben wailed. “You can be the orc this time!”

“No! I _was_ the orc last time!” Nemir reminded him with a retort.

“Boys, behave,” Nessa warned.  

Bilba brushed her hand over the elfling’s head. “Tinuben,” she said soothingly. “I am sure Nemir didn’t want to play the orc last time, but he did so that you all could play the game.”

“Yes, that’s right!” Nemir agreed. “So be fair, Tinu!”

Tinuben huffed through his bangs. “Fine…” he rolled off Bilba’s lap. “Grrrr!” he roared, contorting his face. His hands reaching up to claw at the air. “I will slay you, grrrrr!”

An abrupt scream came from the elflings as they scattered.

“Okay, warriors, we got to defend the Palace!” Nemir cried, pulling out a wooden sword from his belt. “Retreat to the fortress!”

Tinuben chased after them.

“You will do very well with your own child one day,” Nessa commented kindly.

“I can only hope so…” Bilba trailed.

“Lady Bilba!” It was Mivera. She crossed the bridge and bowed her head. “I have just received word from the healer, he wishes to see you.”

“Is it Cullas?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Mivera mourned. “Come along,” In a lower tone she muttered, “Let’s go meet the bastard.”

Bilba's jaw dropped. Did her handmaiden just really...? She excused herself and followed Mivera to the healing hall.

When they arrived the hall was free of patients. Only one person was inside. A tall elf with long silvery blonde hair stood with his back to them as she entered. Bilba’s heart fluttered. It was Thranduil! She rushed forward excitedly to greet him. “Are you well now, _Eredhóneth?”_

The elf turned to her. Freckles where pale skin should be, and eyes of honey rather than pale icy blue. Bilba paused as she beheld him, feeling silly that she didn’t realize the clothing he wore was too plain for the ElvenKing’s taste. “Oh, it’s just you—I-I mean greetings, Lord Cullas!”

A slow amused smile spread across his lips. “Remember that I am just Cullas to you, my Lady. So, are you finding me liken onto someone else?”

The white blond hair still threw Bilba off. That hair color was so rarely seen among the rest of the elven population living in the Woodland Realm. Bilba felt her ears beginning to burn. “Cullas, tell me, are you related to the king?”

“Ah! I was waiting to see how long it would take for you to ask!” Cullas laughed. “Yes, my lady. We’re cousins, once removed,” He clarified with a nod. “I am Oropher’s great nephew. But personally, I believe I got the better looks of the gene pool,” He wiggled his eyebrows at Bilba. “Don’t you agree?”

Bilba decided she would not answer that.

In the background, Mivera snorted. “If you were compared to a spotted, hairy boar then I guess one could agree.”

“Your words are kind as ever, Mivera,” the healer sighed.

“I haven’t seen you in the royal wing…” Bilba thought out loud before adding quickly. “Not that I discredit you in any sort of way!”

“It’s true that I can live in the royal wing, but I choose to live in my own corridors,” Cullas told her.

Curiosity getting the best of her, Bilba asked, “And why is that?”

“Lord Thranduil can be a bit ill-tempered from time to time. So, it’s best I give him and his excitable personality all the space he needs!” He chipped mirthfully.

Bilba wilted, still disappointed he wasn't the ElvenKing. “Why did you want to see me today?” she asked.

“Merely a checkup,” Cullas answered. “I will be able to perform the _Nestaóim_ on you within the week, my lady, if all goes well. So, I needed to ask if you are still willing to participate.”

A sense of dread filled her at the thought. Without thinking, Bilba blurted, “But I can’t decide, not until I see Thranduil!”

The two elves stared wide-eyed at her. Cullas was the first to respond by raising a brow of amusement. “Oh, it’s first name basis now?” he asked her with a shameless grin.

“I…” Bilba trailed uncertainly.

“You must tell me: was it you or my cousin who started calling the other by the first name?”

Bilba looked off to the side. “I-It was Thranduil…”

“Oho!” Cullas chuckled. “I had a feeling about you from the beginning!”

“…what type of feeling?” Bilba almost dreaded to know.

Mivera huffed. Looking close to boxing the healer’s ears, she yelled at him, “Stop teasing Her Ladyship!”

“What?” Cullas asked. “I’m curious!”

“Then I think it’s best you stop sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong!”

“But Mivera,” He practically whined. “Nothing exciting happens around here!”

“You two bicker worse than the old married couple who lived a few doors down from Bag-End…” Bilba muttered as she watched them.

The two straightened immediately. Faces going sober.

“Ahem!” Cullas cleared his throat. “I’ll take it as a yes, that you do want to perform the _Nestaóim_.”

Bilba hesitated. “I’m still worried about Thran- I mean the ElvenKing. Did I do something to anger or hurt him?”

“No, my Lady!” Mivera answered quickly. “You bring the King such great joy! Never think of yourself as a burden or an aggravator! As I said before, it takes time!” she turned to Cullas looking pleadingly at him to intervene.

Cullas nodded. “Mivera is right. You must not worry not for the King. He will be himself in due time, but for now, I suggest you abide by his wishes and give him privacy.”

* * *

Bilba tossed and turned later that night. Finally giving up on sleep, Bilba slipped out of her bed. There was no getting around this; she had to see Thranduil. She needed to know what was going on since no one would tell her. Bilba opened her locket, took her magic ring from its hiding place and slid it on her finger.

A dark grayish world filled her vision. Bilba hated the eerie sensation every time she placed it on her finger. She crept out of her rooms and went straight across the long hallway to Thranduil’s chamber. She gently and soundlessly pried them open to slide in-between the marble doors. The smell of bitter herbs invaded her nostrils, causing her nose to twitch in irritation.

Thranduil was not in the living quarters and the hearth was cold, so Bilba journeyed further into his bedchamber. Thranduil had his back to her as she walked. He was lying on his side groaning weakly as he laid across the bed.

“Thranduil!” Bilba removed the ring, tucking it away as she ran over to him. “Thranduil!” she cried, laying her hands on him. “Do you need me to call a healer-”

“Didn’t I tell you not to disturb me?” His voice low and laced with ice. He got to his feet, facing away from her.

“Thranduil! I-”

“Leave me be,” He ordered sternly. “Do not enter my chamber again unless told!”

“Why are you acting like this?” Bilba cried, her emotions getting the best of her. “What are you keeping from me?!”

He slowly began to turn.

In the candlelight, she could now see the left side of Thranduil’s face, or rather what was left of it. It looked like a ghastly nightmare. His left eye milky white and pale. His cheek appeared hideously mutilated. The flesh and fat had melted away to reveal the gums and teeth underneath.

Bilba let out a horrified gasp.

“Is this what you wanted to see?” Thranduil’s good eye glared down at her without pity at her fright. His tone harsh and unforgiving. “This monstrosity?!”  he demanded.  

Bilba cast her gaze away. “I…I’m sorry!” she stumbled back, trying to flee, but the ElvenKing was quicker.

“No, no you don’t!” He roughly grabbed her chin. “Don’t look away now!” Thranduil forced her head back towards his face. “Take a good long look at my hideous affliction! Look upon me! Aren’t you satisfied yet?”

This wasn’t him. Thranduil wouldn’t do this to her. Bilba’s looked up at him with big watery eyes. There were tears as expected, but instead of fear, her eyes blazing. Bilba caught him by the wrist that secured her chin.

Thranduil froze, completely startled by her reaction and the firm hold she held on his arm. He tried to jerk back, but Bilba’s stubby fingers wouldn’t relent. “W-what are you…”

Bilba tugged determinedly on his arm and down Thranduil came, kneeling to her eye level. With her other hand, Bilba weaved her fingers in and out of his wound. She could feel it all. The tendons twitching and stretching as it held together what was left of the torn muscle beneath charged skin.

Thranduil endured her touch, his gaze intense as he watched her fearfully. Bilba wanted to say something, but words fell short of what she wanted to convey. So, she leaned in, placing a tender and chaste kiss upon his mangled cheek. And then another kiss, and another. Not the wisest move Bilba supposed, but her heart compelled her to.

Bilba then buried her head in his chest and wept. That’s when she felt Thranduil’s slender fingers beginning to run through her curly locks and gently rake through her hair in a soothing gesture. “How did you come by this scar?” she sobbed.

“I faced the serpents of the north,” The ElvenKing told her.

“And you couldn’t flee?” Bilba sniffled, but in her heart, she already knew the answer. 

“One cannot flee when ambushed,” Thranduil replied bitterly. “The attack occurred after I and my people were displaced by the Second Sack of Doriath, or the Second Kinslaying of the Elves, as you may know it.” Thranduil’s snaked his arms around her waist and he hoisted Bilba up into his arms. “On our journey south, we faced a terrible misfortune: a fire-drake from the north had fled from the war and crossed paths with us. The beast, in all its senseless fury, attacked us.”

Thranduil cradled Bilba closer to his chest.

“Only I, my father, Cullas, and a handful of Sindar survived the ordeal. The remainder of my family; my two elder brothers and cousins were burnt alive along with dozens of the Eldar.”

He carried her all the way back to her rooms.

“I managed to slay the drake, but as you can see… it was at great cost… for a wound from dragon fire never fully heals. On the anniversary of my injury, my body remembers and the wound opens for all to see.”

Bilba sobbed into his neck. “I am so sorry, my Lord! So, sorry!”

The pain and loss he had to endure seemed overwhelming. Bilba was sure she would have been driven mad by grief if she had to suffer all Thranduil had over the course of time. Bilba suspected this dark period of Thranduil’s life merely scraped the surface of all he truly suffered.

Thranduil gently laid Bilba down on her bed. “Do not come looking for me again,” He warned her once more.

Bilba only wished there were a way to ease his pain, but was it her place? Who was she to him, just an obligation? An Elf-friend or just a _Cyllartha?_ Bilba didn’t know, but what she did know was that until he threw her out of his kingdom in sheer frustration she would not let him suffer alone. Not anymore. As he turned to leave, Bilba latched onto his arm. “Stay,” she commanded.

Thranduil stiffened. He let out a slow and deliberate breath. “You know I cannot do that-”

“Yes, you can. Stay, at least for now.”

He sent her an open look of frustration marred with confusion. “How can you stand the sight of me?” He demanded to know. “Not Even Araseth could stand being around me during this time! Why did you…” he traced his fingers over the exact spot of her kisses. 

Bilba didn’t know how to answer him, so instead, she replied dismissively, “You ask too many questions.”

Thranduil was not placated by her answer. “And your answers are too few! Like a puzzle, you continue to elude me… I never met a creature with such paradox until you!”

Bilba yawned. “Then you don’t know what a mirror is,” She muttered sleepily. Thranduil’s face scrunched up, obviously taking offense, but the hobbit didn’t see. Her eyes were already closed. When he didn’t move, she prompted, “Well? I’m still waiting for you to join me, my Lord.”

Thranduil huffed. Bilba had half expected him to ignore her, but her heart gave a flutter when she felt the bed shift. “I never knew hobbits could be such fussy creatures,” he grumbled.

Bilba curled up next to his chest like a kitten. “Well, now you do,” she replied. Bilba smiled as she felt Thranduil’s slender fingers starting to comb through her hair again, making her drowsy.

“Yes, to that I do.”

“Good.”

As she steadily lost consciousness, Bilba heard him reply faintly, “And for that, I am grateful.”

* * *

The pain was gone by dawn. Thranduil stroked the smooth flawless skin that covered his cheek with awe. Never had his face healed from a memory wound so quickly. It normally took days, up to a week in solitude. The angrier and more agitated he became, the longer it took to heal. Up to an entire month at one time. But never did his affliction vanish overnight.

Thranduil looked down in wonder at the snoring hobbit with drool running down her chin. “Once again, I am in your debt, Bilbania,” He placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

There were two quick knocks at the door and then Mivera came in. “Good morning, Lady Bilba! We have a busy schedule to keep-” She halted upon seeing her king laying beside the hobbit. More specific, the King kissing the hobbit whilst lying in her bed. “M-M-My Lord! Forgive me!” she bowed quickly and retreated from the room as if balrogs were chasing her.

Thranduil huffed, realizing he stayed too long, but he still felt reluctant to leave. It was another thirty minutes before the hobbit awoke on her own. Bilba blinked up at him beadily as he twirled a lock of her hair in-between this fingers. "Your face... it's whole again... does this mean you healed now?"

“For now, but nevermind that. You have somewhere to be today,” Thranduil reminded her.

“Wha…oh! _Oh_ , I’m late for class!” Bilba sat up, stretching in bed. “Why didn’t Mivera awaken me?”

“She was about to, but left after she saw us sleeping together.”

Bilba snorted, smacking him on the thigh without heat. “Don’t take it out of context!”

“What? It’s not my fault. You’re the one who invited me to your bed,” A sly smile crossed his lips. “And wouldn’t take no for an answer-”

“Again, _context!”_  the hobbit shrieked. “Yeesh! I hope our child takes more after me!”

Thranduil, paused, looking amazed. “You…still want me as your _Eredhóneth?_ Even after what you had seen my affliction last night?”

Bilba leaned forward, placing her hand on top of his. In all seriousness, she confessed, “I wouldn’t want anyone, but you, Thranduil. I’ve grown very fond of you.”

Thranduil’s face brightened, becoming radiant as the morning sun. “And I, of you,” he breathed with great relief. Bilba beamed at his confession. Thranduil leaned down towards her. His lips drawing steadily closer to her’s-  

There was another knock at the door. The seamstress entered, pushing in a rollaway cart. “Good morning, my Lady!” she greeted Bilba jovially. “I think silver with some green velvet would look lovely on you toda-aa-aah! Oh my!” she gasped when she spotted the king with her. “I… I am sorry for interrupting!”

She was about to make a hasty retreat when the ElvenKing barked out, “Halt!” Thranduil pulled his hands back from Bilba. “I will leave you to dress now,” he told her as he swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and stood up.

As if a spell had been broken, Bilba slumped down, “A…Alright. Farewell, my Lord.”

A fond smile passed over Thranduil’s face. "Do not let your countenance be so downtrodden!" The ElvenKing bypassed the shocked seamstress on the way out. “Dress her in something ravishing today, Rínneth,” he told her. “I will be taking Lady Bilbania somewhere special this evening.”

“A-As my Lord commands,” the seamstress bowed hastily, keeping her eyes on the ground.

Bilba’s head popped up. “You will be taking me where?” she asked.

“You will find out tonight, my _Cyllartha,”_  Thranduil replied tenderly before leaving.

 And for the first time in her life, Bilba fell back on her bed in a giddy swoon.


	11. Manqué

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil gives Bilba a gift, and later they undergo the Nestaóim, but the results do not go in their favor.

“The King has been in a good mood these past few days…” Mivera mentioned idly.

“Mmm-hmm,” Bilba hummed distractedly.

“…and noticeably, so have you…”

Bilba refused to look at her. “Really? I haven’t noticed anything.”

“Then what was all that skipping down the hall about?”

“Um… I was playing hopscotch?”

Mivera sighed. “Lying is not your forte, my Lady…”

“Nor is your subtlety,” Bilba replied as she laced another stick on the line. She was busy making decorations for the upcoming Winter Solstice. The elves were already preparing and Bilba had volunteered to help with the ornaments to be hung around the clearing and the palace grounds.

Dropping all pretenses, Mivera leaned forward. “Lady Bilba, I beg you to have mercy for the suspense is slaying me! Where does His Majesty take you in the woods at the approach of evening?”

The hobbit had no pity as she avoided the question. “Why worry, Mivera? I always arrived back by nightfall.”

Mivera groaned, her face hilariously similar to her son’s pouting expressions.

Bilba laughed. “So maybe now you will understand the agony I felt when you refused to tell me of Thranduil’s condition!” Bilba knew she was being petty, but she still felt betrayed that no one in the Woodland dared to tell her of the King’s wounds. Had she not lived among them long enough to be trusted?

“I already told you, my Lady, that we weren’t supposed to talk about that!”

Apparently, her being an elf-friend didn’t entitle her to well-known facts among the Silvan population. “Then I’m not allowed to talk about the King’s private business in the woods at twilight,” Bilba retorted. Yep, she was being cattily pathetic.

Bilba sighed. “The King is my guide. He is busy showing me the hidden beauties of his wood. Places that has so far delighted me.”

The first sight Thranduil had taken her to was a private picnic in the Moth Sanctuary. The next evening, they visited the heated underground springs, hidden beneath the caverns. On the third night, Thranduil took her to the harvesting valley to participate in the final harvest of the Wild Mountain Honey Flower. Bilba had a new delight to look forward to seeing nearly every day.

“Yes,” Mivera’s face instantly brightened. “Our realm is truly beautiful when one knows where to look. Where will you go tonight?”

“I never know where we go, but I know it will be grand!”

* * *

The closer it grew to sundown, the more antsy Bilba became. Right after supper, Bilba was dressed and waiting in the common room. The seamstress had outfitted her in a blue velvet cloak to keep her warm in the snow. It didn’t take long for Thranduil to arrive. He was crownless and wore a shorter variation of his robe that came down to his knees instead of dragging the ground. 

“Are you ready, Bilbania?”

“Yes!” Bilba jumped up from the lounge pillows she was sitting on. “So, where will we be going tonight, Thranduil?”

“You will see, come.” He walked her down to the ground level of the palace, where they kept the horses. "This is our destination tonight.”

“In the stables?” Bilba asked in disbelief as she followed him inside.

Thranduil smiled down at her indulgently. “I have a gift for you here.”

Her disappointment fading, Bilba perked up. “Really, what is it?”

“I will take you to her.”

“…her?”

Thranduil led her towards the back of the stable, passing many stalls until he stopped in front of a large decorative stall that was bigger and grander than the others. Inside there was a giant elk. On its head was two small nubs where antlers should be, so Bilba perceived it to be a female elk.

The elk trotted up to Thranduil at once. Ears forwards, looking attentive. “This is Arel, the mate of my late mount, Arasdir,” Thranduil gently patted her nose. “Arel is from the pedigree of Glossaras, the white elk. A lineage reserved for use of the royal household. Not one tremor can be found in her legs. She is a sturdy and intelligent cow,” Thranduil told Bilba with great pride. “And I am giving her to you.”

“To… to me?”

“Yes.”

“Uh, thank you…?”

Arel was covered in a rich blanket with golden tassels. From her neck up, Bilba could see that her coat was a lovely ruddy brown and her eyes were a warm caramel brown.

The elk lowered his head, sniffing at Bilba. It mewed softly at her.

“Arel is greeting her new mistress,” Thranduil told her.

“Oh,” Bilba patted the elk’s nose. “It’s nice to meet you, Arel.”

Perhaps it was the blanket she was wearing, but the elk looked rather portly around the middle, her sides bloated outwards like a sphere. Bilba knew Thranduil wouldn’t be neglectful as to unhealthily fatten a prized mount like this, so she asked him, “Is she carrying?”

“Yes. The calf should be born this early spring.”

So, he was gifting her a giant pregnant elk. Bilba wasn’t disappointed, but just curious what to do with this new mount, and it’s soon to be calf, she had just acquired.

Then Thranduil told her, “Arel’s calf will belong to our child when he or she is born. I hope it will be considered an early Begetting Day gift from their father.”

Bilba paused, looking up at him. She was starting to understand the significance of the ElvenKing’s gift, and she was humbled by it. “Thranduil…” Bilba slid her hand into his. “… thank you.”

Thranduil squeezed back, intertwining their fingers. Forever their lives will remain connected, both in friendship and in love, and through their _Hên Nestadren,_ their child of healing, who is to come.

* * *

"All right, this shouldn't be too uncomfortable… possibly some slight cramping, but nothing more," Cullas talked softly, his voice soothing as a balm, but her nerves would not settle. As he began to work between her legs, Bilba took a deep breath, keeping her gaze firmly fixed on Mivera.

When she felt something, Bilba gasped.

“Don’t tense!” Cullas warned her softly.

Mivera squeezed her hand. “The point is to stay calm and think happy thoughts! Imagine a child, Lady Bilba. What would he or she be like? What do you see doing with your babe when it’s born and grows older?”

“I don’t think I can,” Bilba murmured.

Mivera sent her a questioning look.

“You see… I always imagined a curly haired hobbit babe with dark hair,” Bilba smiled faintly before shaking her head. “But this will be an elven child… my pregnancy will be longer, and the child larger. This is different from whatever I could’ve fathomed years ago!”

“Still, give it a try, Lady Bilba,” Mivera encouraged her. “Of course everything is different, but that doesn’t make it bad.”

Bilba let out a sigh, but at last, she began to try.

Ears.

The child’s ears would be pointier than a hobbit’s ear, also narrow and petite.

Hair.

Thranduil’s hair was straight, and hers was curly so the babe would have a thick, wavy texture. A nice blend of the two of them.

Features.

They would have their Grandfather Bungo’s twitchy nose and their Grandmother Belladonna’s cheeky grin.

Eyes.

The child will have her eyes, no, wait… it would be the eyes of its father.

Feet.

What could the babe take from her? Bilba’s toes twitched. That’s it! It would inherit the leathery soles of her feet. Enabling them to walk barefooted. Her child would be the tallest kit in the Shire. She suddenly missed the rolling green hills. “Home…” Bilba muttered.

Mivera tilted her ear to her. “Pardon?”

“I wish to birth this child at my home in the Shire.”

Mivera wiped the tears from her eyes. “That decision will be between you and our King.”

After just a couple of moments, Cullas announced, “Alright, and we are all done!” He threw the now empty satchel into the flaming hearth. The fire devoured the pouch quickly.

“Already?” Bilba asked, lifting her head with surprise.

“Yes, we’re done,” Cullas repeated. He washed his hands and equipment in a basin filled with a sterilizing solution.

Bilba frowned with confusion. “Is that really all it is to it?” 

Cullas shrugged. “Well, if it’s any consolation, you're probably not the first woman to make that observation nor you will be the last…” he trailed dryly.

Mivera blinked, but Bilba burst out laughing. “You lack so much propriety, Cullas! My mother would have adored you if she was still living!”

“Tis a shame to hear,” Cullas lamented. “It would have been so nice to meet another kindred soul who also appreciates my humor.”

It took the elf-maid a moment to get the joke and when she did, Mivera made a strangled noise, a cross between a snort and a honk of a dying duck, making Bilba laugh harder.

The hobbit wiped the tears from her eyes. "So, what should I do now?" she asked after regaining some of her composure.

"Lay still for about ten minutes. Then you are free to enjoy the rest of your day!” Cullas replied cheerily. “Get plenty of rest, eat well, stay healthy and alert me the moment you conceive!”

Bilba laid a hand over her midriff. “Cullas, when will I know…?”

“I predict you to ovulate the day after tomorrow,” Cullas answered as began putting things away and collecting the sheets. “We will know within six days’ time.”

Bilba frowned. “How can we possibly know so soon?”

“Any who looks upon you will know,” he replied with surety. “Especially yourself. The fire of Arda will be ignited within the child at conception,” The healer explained. “It could be a matter of hours to a few days. We will know when the light of a new _Fëa_ awakens within you. Lord Thranduil will also know at the very moment when a part of his _Fëa_ ignites within you.”

Bilba couldn’t really wrap her head around what he was saying. “That sounds… so surreal…” she trailed.

“I promise you it will feel very real!” Cullas laughed, but Bilba wasn’t amused. “You will know, my Lady. Just wait for it. There’s nothing else like it when an elven babe is begotten!”

Cullas’ explanation was just as vague as Balin’s description of the Arkenstone. But then Balin was right, there is only one Arkenstone.

So Bilba waited, but with each passing day, her excitement dwindled when nothing seemed to happen. No light, no flutter, and no Thranduil. The ElvenKing had become strangely distant since the procedure. It could be that he was busy preparing for the winter festivities about to take place, but it still bothered Bilba more than she wanted anyone to know, even Mivera.

Mivera saw her every day and could see her loneliness. She tried to cheer Bilba up by having Tinuben visit in the evenings for supper.

As her handmaiden began to gather the dishes and Tinuben was distracted, Bilba said, “Mivera, I still do not understand what Cullas meant… the fire of Arda lighting within me… how does such a thing feel?”

“Well…” Mivera pondered as she stacked the plates. “For me, it was a very intimate and wondrous feeling,” she explained. “You will bond fairly quickly with your child as he or she grows within you, just as I had with Tinuben.”

Bilba frowned, feeling even more confused. How could she bond to something not even born? 

“It’s best not to overthink things,” Mivera tried to encourage her. “The truth is we are sailing through uncharted waters with this procedure… you are the first mortal to undergo the _Nestaóim_. If you conceive you will be the first mortal female to carry an elven babe in history!”

Bilba was shocked to hear this. “No male-elf has ever taken a mortal bride?”

“Nay,” Mivera shook her head. “All before it has been elf-maidens who begot children with mortal men. Although, there is one incident… sadly, he fell in battle before they could marry. The young maiden was named Andreth. She refused to take another lover in memorial to their love and died childless and unmarried.”

Bilba swallowed. "I see... thank you for telling me of their tragic tale. Who was the elf that loved Andreth?"

"He was Lord Aegnor, the son of Finarfin." 

* * *

Two more days had passed, but Bilba felt strangely content as she sat in a chair, drinking hot tea as she watched the snowflakes fall from the sky. It was so pure and tranquil that it brought a smile to her face.

Tinuben and the other elflings were out about in the snow below. Bilba wished she could run out and roll herself around in snow when the flakes would have settled on the ice-cold ground. Cullas, however, advised against it and Thranduil had backed it without hesitation as an order.

She could feel his presence as he entered the room. As he usually did, floating in and out like a watchful shadow between his duties. Bilba did not bother to turn around. “Good evening, Thranduil.”

“Good evening,” he replied, walking over to Bilba. She turned her head to see white flakes slowly melting in his hair. “It's cold outside,” Thranduil commented airily.

Bilba giggled at his obvious statement. “I can imagine! Is everything in place for tomorrow?”

Thranduil huffed, kneeling down to her side. “Almost. There are still many things to be done, but I can afford a moment of rest.” 

They sat in silence as they enjoyed each other’s presence for the first time in days. How Bilba hated to break it, but the truth needed to be said, “My Lord, it’s been six days…” she whispered sadly. “…there is no baby.”

Thranduil closed his eyes. “…I know,” he admitted regrettably. “We will have to try again,” he announced.

But Bilba hesitated. “I wonder… what if I can’t, _we_ can’t, have a child?” she supposed.

Thranduil looked confused. He squeezed her knee as a supportive gesture. “Why ever not? The healer believes our races were compatible.”

Races. Half of each.

Bilba looked up at Thranduil unconvinced.

“We will try again,” He promised her fervently. Thranduil stood up, removing his comforting hand. “I must return to my duties now. If you need anything, call Mivera.”

He hovered over the hobbit for just a moment. Thranduil took her hand up to his lips and kissed it.

After Thranduil left, Bilba returned her gaze to the snowflakes that now stuck to the trees and bushes, but the same peace of mind didn't return to her. She only felt sadness and the feeling of homesickness overwhelming her. Tears started to run down Bilba’s cheeks. She had no reason to cry, and yet all the reasons in the world to cry.

Bilba placed her elbows on the windowsill and hid her head in her hands to sob like a child. What was she doing here, forcing her broken dreams on the ethereal ElvenKing? Oh, how she missed her home at BagEnd! she missed her armchair, and her books and her garden. But most of all, if she was to return home, she would miss Thranduil, for he could not follow her. 

There would be no more treatments for her, Bilba decided. At the arrival of the Spring Thaw, it would be time for her to go home.


	12. Desiderata

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s the start of the festivities. Meanwhile, Thranduil struggles with his yearning for Bilba.

It was days like this that made it worth being a king, Thranduil decided. His people were in good spirits as they bustled merrily around the clearing, setting up the last of their stands and pitching their tents. Others were preparing the fire pits. There were ten hunting parties in the area. The king’s party was the largest with over one hundred members in attendance. Winter had not touched this part of the forest. The grass was still green and the trees produced the last of its fruits.

“This is a timeless clearing,” he told the hobbit. “No snow ever befalls here until after the Winter Solstice.”

Without passion, she replied politely, “Yes, I see. It’s lovely.”

Her lack of enthusiasm worried the ElvenKing. Normally Bilbania’s curiosity could kill a hundred cats. She should be running about with the vigor of an elfling, asking questions and participating in every game she could, not following him around like a moping dog.

“Ah, greetings Lord Thranduil and Lady Bilba!” an attendant welcomed them as they approached the main podium. “So, what group would you like to participate in this year, my lady?” she asked the hobbit.

Bilbania blinked. “…Excuse me, but wha-”

“I believe being a Gatherer is most appropriate for her,” Thranduil told the elf-maid.

“Of course, my Lord,” the attendant handed the hobbit a basket with straps and a velvet sack. “Here you are. I wish you well in your search, my lady.”

Bilbania quirked an eyebrow in Thranduil’s direction. “What did you just elect me to?” she whispered.

“One shall hunt, and the other, gather. The Hunters and the Gatherers. It’s the central event of the Winter Solstice. On this day, the Hunter must bring in game, and the Gatherer must find the ingredients needed for the roasting.”

Thranduil motioned to the meadows just outside clearing. “All the ingredients must come fresh from the fields. Any hunter can choose whoever's satchel they want when they return from the hunt.”

Bilba wondered if any of the hunting elves would want her seasoning, for she was not native to the area and knew very little about the herbs that grew this time of year.

A crowd had begun to assemble behind them. They stood row on row in front of the podium. The ones with weapons stood to the left, and the ones with baskets were standing on the right. The gender ratio was astonishingly even among the crowds. Many of the males were Gatherers as females were Hunters.

Bilba’s eyes widen in surprise as she spotted her handmaiden standing on the left. Mivera was dressed out in brown leather armor. Her dark hair was braided back with ties. She was unable to hide her surprise as she blurted, “You’re a hunter?”

“Aye, my Lady,” concerned lines formed on Mivera face as she approached her mistress. “I was unaware you have changed your mind about attending the festival… I am sorry. I would have remained by your side and would have been a Gatherer if I had known-”

“Er…His Majesty has twisted my arm a bit,” Bilba admitted sheepishly as she patted Thranduil’s elbow. “And don’t worry about it. I will manage, I will be fine.”

“I will keep an eye on her if you wish,” a voice familiar voice volunteered a voice.

“Cullas?” Mivera seemed surprised to see him approach the group.

Cullas had on a thick mint colored poncho thrown over a tunic and leggings. “Good morning and greetings to all!”

His garments were too loose to be on the hunt through the dense woods in search of stags.

“You will not be participating in the hunt, Master Cullas?” Bilba asked.

“No,” Cullas shook his head. “I rather there be no blood be on my hands except for the blood of an orc or spider when necessary.” He picked up a woven basket from the stage and slung it over his shoulder. He then waved merrily at Mivera. “I’ll gather the right seasoning blend, just for you!”

Mivera rolled his eyes. “Go away, Cullas. I have no interest of ending up poisoned!”

Cullas patted his chest sorrowfully. “Am I not a healer? Your words wound me!”

The two continued to bicker. Turning to the ElvenKing, Bilbania asked him, “What will you be participating as?”

Thranduil shook his head dismissively. “Usually I am a hunter, but now I oversee this year as I had for decades.”

“So, you can sit on your dearie while I work?” Bilba grumbled. “That’s not fair!”

“That’s what happens to those who sulk,” the ElvenKing recited.

“Oh, sulk my shins!” she retorted, getting lively for the first time today. “Don’t become so haughty! You made me be a Gatherer so you should go be a Hunter!”

Thranduil smirked down at her. “No.”

“Thranduil!”

“Hm…” The ElvenKing closed his eyes as he thought for a moment. Then he asked, “If I hunt, will you give me your ingredient satchel at my return?”

Bilbania appeared caught off guard by his request. “I…”

“Lady Bilba has a point,” Cullas spoke up. “Why don’t you reclaim your title as Ace Hunter, my Lord?”

Thranduil remained silent. His people knew his hunting skills were unsurpassed. Bilbania rolled her eyes at him, but the hobbit did not. “Lay-about,” she muttered before asking Cullas, “Then who has been the Ace Hunter of Winter Solstice?”

“Mivera has held the title for the past decade,” Cullas told her brightly. “Which is most impressive!”

“Is that so? Then I will be rooting for you, Mivera!” Bilbania cheered.

Her handmaiden grinned back merrily. Cullas glanced to his right, seeing the ElvenKing starting to fume out of the corner of his eye. “Ahha… but only after His Majesty had stopped participating of course!” he added a little too late.

“Oh, well…” Bilbania trailed. “I wish you luck too!” she cheered a little too forcefully.

The ElvenKing murmured something that sounded suspiciously like, “Such a kind afterthought.”

“No need to get all huffy!” Bilba tried to pacify him. “You haven’t participated in decades and that puts you at a disadvantage right away!”

Thranduil leveled her with a challenging look. “If I compete, do you truly believe Mivera will be victorious again this year?” he asked her.

“Well…” Bilbania paused, giving his question serious thought. “You _are_ a little rusty, my Lord!” she giggled.

Thranduil reared back looking god-smacked by her blunt honesty. Cullas wheezed, barely able to hold back a laugh as Mivera tried to hush him by swatting his sides.

The ElvenKing gnashed his teeth. “Then we shall see about that.” He reached up and removed his crown.

Mivera gave Bilba a pouty look. “Ahhh, Lady Bilba!” her handmaiden whined. “I thought you wanted me to win!”

Bilbania tilted her head in confusion. “Huh?”

The elf-maid let out a sigh, her countenance turning merry as she laughed, “Never mind!”

Thranduil disrobed his long coat, leaving himself dressed in pants, tunic and knee high boots. He took up arms from the podium, strapping a few daggers to his thighs and a bow with a sleeve full of arrows. Not having time for braids, Thranduil pulled up his hair into a high ponytail.

The hobbit gawked at him. “This is the first time I've seen you with your hair back…” she confessed, her cheeks reddening. “…it flatters you.”

Thranduil’s smile could have melted sugar crystals. “I look forward to what seasoning you will put together.”

Bilbania’s ears redden. “I-I am afraid it may not be much!” she warned him. “I am unsure with what grows and where it grows, my Lord.”

“You shall do fine,” Thranduil insisted. He turned to Mivera. “May the best elf win.”

Mivera glanced over. A spark ignited in her eyes. “I plan to, your majesty.”

Thranduil set his face determined. “I go for the hunt and I shall bring you the spoils!” he promised the hobbit. He didn’t wait for her reply as he sprinted off. The other hunters following his lead as they sped away into the forest.

Once they were gone the hobbit lamented, “Oh dear me… I did not believe he would actually participate!”

“Well, I think it’s a good thing,” Cullas quipped. “It’s about time someone around here motivated him to get off his arse,” His patted her shoulder. “I really like you Lady Bilba! First, you made him dance for the first time in centuries and now you make him hunt. What else will he do for you I wonder, hmm?”

Bilba shifted her eyes away.

“Listen, my lady,” Cullas leaned in, his face turning serious. “I know you’re despairing that there is no babe, but I encourage you not to give up just yet. We will make some adjustments and try again-”

“I rather not talk about that right now.”

“I understand,” Cullas moved back. “Well, come along, let us collect our herbs by the time they return.”

* * *

“This…mmmhh…” Bilbania took another bite. “This is so exquisite! Mmm! I can’t believe you could roast so well!”

Thranduil watched Bilba nearly dumbfounded at how many portions she managed to devour. “Of…of course I can cook. Although I will admit it’s been many a year since I have participated in the Hunt and Spit competition…”

“Then you are an amazing cook, your majesty!”

The ElvenKing gave her a curt nod. “I thank you.”

At the back of his mind, Thranduil recalled her saying that she and her kinfolk would starve out his kingdom before the end of their lives. At the time, he merely thought she was jesting, but not anymore.

“I daresay, do I detect a hint juniper berry?” she asked him. “You used it so well!”

“Just a pinch. And why do you ask me as if you wouldn’t know?” Thranduil questioned her. “It was in your satchel.”

“Oh well…” the hobbit looked sheepish. “I kind of threw anything in I could find…” she admitted. “And um… so, what did you do to the flanks?” Bilbania changed the subject. “It’s really helped to seal in moisture and the flavor!”

Thranduil shook his head while wearing a secretive smile, “It’s secret technique I learned from Feren’s family, I hope you understand…”

Not at all deterred, the hobbit laughed. “Ha, ha, of course I do!” It was good to hear her laugh. “My cousin’s wife, Lobelia, constantly hounds me for my mother’s poppy seed lemon tarts. I understand all too well my Lord!” She looked up at him with the most brilliant grin.

The happiest he had seen her in days and it gladden Thranduil’s heart to see her smile. “It goes to show how we can create something beautiful together,” Thranduil remarked without thinking.

Bilba trailed, “…yes…” her appetite fading a bit, but eventually the savory vapors from the steaming meat lured her back into eating.

Thranduil cleared his throat. “Ahem… or in this case, something delicious.”

Cheeks bulged out with meat and a sheen of grease on Bilbania’s upper lip. The juices ran down the corner of her mouth. Such a delectable looking mouth. Thranduil wondered if her lips were as soft as they seemed. Thranduil wished he could lean down to taste those lips and his own cooking on her tongue.

Bilba swallowed and opened her mouth to say something, but instead, all that came out was a very crass, unladylike belch. “P-Pardon me!”, she apologized quickly. “It’s most unbecoming to behave so boorish in front of you!”

Thranduil simply laughed and poked her side. “Unbecoming indeed,” more than a little unnerved on just how much how much she could pack away, but now he breathed a sigh of relief knowing she was finally at her limit. “You probably ate most of the stag all on your own!”

Bilba groaned a little at her fullness. “Ugh, I probably have…” She bemoaned. “F-Forgive me ElvenKing, but I think I need to lie down now…” She laid back on the mat. Her tawny curls spreading like a pooling waterfall around her head. 

“Oh, so the bottomless pit is finally filled?” Thranduil teased her. “Are you sure you would not like to try another dish? Perhaps a little dessert?”

The hobbit was not amused. Bilba squinted her eyes at him while managing to stifle another belch rising up from her throat. “Gracious, no! Not unless you intend to roll me back to your halls!” she retorted.

Thranduil laughed again at her expense. Being in her presence this past month had been the most light-heartening experiences that Thranduil had had in centuries. Despite the fact that his son left his kingdom, and hundreds of his people had died in battle, Thranduil had never felt so carefree. If this hobbit stayed at his side, he felt like he could face it all again and the trying times ahead.

Bilba pouted at him. “It wasn’t really that funny…” she grumbled, trying to sit up. She winced suddenly. Letting out a pained cry as she clutched her stomach, startling Thranduil out of his mirth.

“Bilbania…!” His humor gone. He hadn’t meant to upset her. Thranduil reached into his seasoning pouch and pulled out some of the leftover herbs he didn’t use on the venison. “Here” He hovered the herbs over her mouth, letting the leafy plants brush against her lips.

Bilba took a deep breath. “Mint… fennel…” She sniffed again. “…and merrywickle?”

“It will help settle your stomach,” he explained.

Like a doe chewing the turf, Bilbania ate. Her lips touching against her fingers and her tongue brushing against the tips with a cleansing lick and Thranduil had never felt so perverse around her as he did now. Oh, how he longed for them to start the healing treatment again. In the meantime, he couldn’t allow himself to release, not until her next cycle.

Thranduil laid his hand on her slightly swollen belly and rubbed it. Imagining it not largely swollen with food, but with his own child one day. The hobbit stretched out under his ministrations with a purr. “That actually feels nice…” Bilbania sighed contently.

The tips of Thranduil ears turned a faint pink at the sound of her throaty moans.

“My, my, am I interrupting something?” while toting in a cake, the healer entered the tent uninvited. Thranduil glared at him. it was times like this his cousin could be as meddlesome as Mithrandir.

“Cullas?” Bilba lifted her head. “What are you doing here?”

“Just dropping off something I think you like.” The healer sat the lemon bundt cake down near their mat.

The hobbit frowned. “Why are you bringing me more food?” she groaned. “I am pretty sure I have eaten at least three times my body weight in food today!”

“Oh, no reason,” he replied innocently, too innocently. “Just making sure you had your fill of calories.”

“…wait… you are all deliberately fattening me up like I’m some prized hog?!” the hobbit shrieked in outrage.

Thranduil remained indifferent while Cullas cringed back guiltily. “W-Well, we did some research… a-and you lost a significant amount of bodyweight during your journey with the dwarves to Erebor. It will increase the success of the second fertility treatment if you were to gain just a little bit of weight back!” he explained fretfully. 

“You could have just told me!” Bilba huffed, her glare solely on Thranduil. Yes, she knew who the real culprit was. The hobbit tried to roll up, but couldn’t get to her feet without Thranduil’s assistance.

“I…I’m going to visit Mivera’s tent,” she announced before exiting.

Thranduil hated to see her go. He longed for her to stay in his presence. He turned to look at the healer and his eyes were all too knowing. “Cullas, I am in need your counsel…”

Having his full attention, Cullas answered, “Yes, my Lord?”

Thranduil paused as he struggled to find the words to describe his woes. “Ever since the _Nestaóim_ , I have been… aroused… whenever Bilbania is near.”

There was no reaction from Cullas as he listened carefully.

“It has to be the _Echui_ potion causing this,” Thranduil reasoned. “The dosage is too strong. My urges should not have awakened to this extent!” he let out a long regrettable sigh. “…I should have never laid in her bed! It all started after that.”

Cullas reacted this time. “Just how many times were you in her bed?”

“It’s not of your concern where I lay my head,” Thranduil dismissed it quickly.

Cullas looked unconvinced. “…right. So, these are unwanted erections only happen around our lady hobbit?” Cullas paused, tapping his chin. Looking thoughtful, he muttered, “How interesting…”

Thranduil barely managed to reign in his temper. “I fail to see how this is amusing,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

The medic flapped his hands apologetically. “That’s not what I meant my Lord, so calm down already!” he corrected himself. “I was simply remembering a similar case to this, that is all!”

His curiosity won over his annoyance, Thranduil asked, “What case?”

“A previous patient I treated many centuries ago,” Cullas told him. “I do have a suspicion about these desires you are having… as I said, there is one other case similar to yours.”

Thranduil’s interest perked. “Who were they?”

“For patient confidentiality, I cannot tell you their names,” Cullas informed him. “The situation was this: there was an _Eredhóneth_ who harbored great feelings for his _Cyllartha_ as she bore his child. His affections ran so deeply that he wanted to pledge himself to her. However, he was pledged before and later widowed.”

“What happened them?”

“They left the Woodland realm and traveled to the woods of Lothlórien never to return. They had three elflings in total I hear…” Cullas turned to Thranduil with a meaningful look. “The similarities are striking.”

Thranduil’s face contorted. “…are you saying I am like this former Elf-lord, and that I desire my _Cyllartha_ to the point of twice-pledging?”

“As I said, there are striking similarities,” Cullas pointed out mildly. “Forgive me for prying, but it seems to you wish to pledge yourself to Lady Bilbania, do you not?”

Thranduil drew back as if he had been struck. “Your brashness has never served you well!” he retorted.

“I will take that as a “yes”,” Cullas decided.

“Don’t be a fool!” The Elvenking sneered. He could never allow himself to take another wife, especially not to a mortal of a different race. It was ridiculous! Few elves ever married twice, and never did an elf of his stature had dared to since High King Finwë. “I am not that foolish, nor am I that weak!”

Cullas frowned. “From my own personal failings, I have learned that it’s a greater weakness not to confront how we truly feel-”

“My patience is growing thin!” The ElvenKing growled. “Do you have a solution or not?”

“Of course I do my Lord,” Cullas replied curtly. “I will simply lessen the dosage for you. But, if you do not improve, then I will cease you taking the potion entirely.”

Thranduil surpassed a groan at the mounting pressure he felt. “What do you suppose I do about this in the meantime?” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“There’s no other option my Lord than relieving it,” Cullas passed him a clean, folded handkerchief. “Go ahead and take care of it. I leave as to give you privacy-”

“I will not degrade myself to such vile acts!” Thranduil thundered, tossing the tissue back.

“There’s no shame in it, my Lord! The race of men deal with such on a-”

“My answer is final!”

“As you wish, but it’s either that or find the person who arose you. It will only get worst until you do.”

Thranduil’s glare was ugly. “Get out.”

“As you wish!” the healer replied briskly, making a swift exit.

* * *

The next morning, Thranduil saw the hobbit off at the front gates of his palace.

“The markets are opening up in Dale and I hear there are a few good stands. I will bring you back a good Yuletides gift,” she promised him.

“Oh?” Thranduil asked her, amused. “And what would that be?”

“I don’t know yet,” the hobbit climbed onto the back of her pony with little assistance. “But I will know it when I see it,” she grinned up at him, cheeks bright and ruddy from the cold air. Thranduil felt his heart leap at the sight of her.  

“I am sure I will treasure anything you bring me,” he told her sincerely. “And I will be giving you a gift as well upon your return.”

“Really?” her eyes lit up. Bilbania’s eyes were so hypnotizing to stare into. They were a rich slate color with a ring of brown around the pupils and specks of gold.

“Yes.” Thranduil cupped her chin tenderly. “Farewell Bilbania, at least for now, so don't get too comfortable around those dwarves or else you might not receive it.”

“Oh, behave my lord!" Bilbania laughed. "A mere five days is a second in the eyes of an elf!"

Thranduil had lived outside of time for so long amongst his own kin that the years seemed to blur, becoming unending and unimportant. He was eternal. He was meant to endure until the ending of the world. Kingdoms shall rise and fall, but not his. Not as long there is breath in him. He would not let his people suffer his fate of losing Doriath, the only home he had ever known before being scattered by war and hardship. 

"No... it's more like a thousand years." For the first time in a millennium, Thranduil had stepped back into time, and though every fleeting second was precious. Bilbania made it precious to him. 

The last he saw of his _Cyllartha_ were her luscious curls dancing in the wind as she rode away, surrounded by his guards. It was a day later when the ElvenKing began to feel uneasy. Presently he resided in his study staring down at the documents he had to review from the council and could not concentrate. Something unsettled in his spirit since this afternoon and would not leave him be.

Suddenly Galion barged into the room without announcing himself and cried out breathlessly, “My Lord Thranduil! A messenger is here to see you! It’s one of the guards serving under Captain Thimben!”

Seeing his servant in such disarray, Thranduil ordered. “Let him in at once!”

The guard came and bowed before him. “Forgive me, but I am the bearer of ill news,” he began. Thranduil felt as though a cold stone had been dropped into the pit of his belly at the next guard’s next words. “It’s the hobbit, Lady Bilba-” the messenger visibly flinched when he looked up into the intense gaze of his lord.

“What of her?” the ElvenKing demanded impatiently. “Speak!”

“S-She has been ambushed while visiting in the city of Dale!”


	13. Saboteur II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An elf laments on a missed opportunity.

My efforts were in vain. The hobbit still lives.

And it is all thanks to that incompetent fool. I have given my henchman everything he needed to carry out this assassination and to divert suspicion, yet he still managed to fail miserably! Fortunately, the dead cannot speak, so they cannot trace this fully back to me.

I lost much ground in this attempt.

Caution must be taken from here on out, but I cannot afford to linger as my King is being made a fool. It is one thing to look and not to touch, but my Lord is falling into disgrace as he becomes drunk on desire. She has become a sweet poison that he cannot seem to rid himself of.

Everyone can see it. They talk about little else.

It is only a matter of time before the King gives in and the lineage of Lord Elmo will become contaminated. I have managed to sneak in undetectable amounts of the Wild Carrot herb into the hobbit’s tea to help prevent a pregnancy, but there is no guarantee it will work. Nor will I get another chance if they decide to perform a second _Nestaóim_.

The waters must not be stirred any longer.

For now, I will observe and wait for another opportunity if need be. The hobbit will undoubtingly be leery of returning to my Lord’s kingdom, so perhaps all this can work into my favor somehow. Yes, indeed it will. By sundown, she will be at King Dáin’s feet. If she knows what’s best for her, she will remain in his domain.


	14. Sleuth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba seeks sanctuary in Erebor, but Dáin is seeking something else from her. Meanwhile, Thranduil arrives in Dale to learn some shocking revelations.

The faint scent of musky, aged parchment in the air was an odd sort of comfort. The aisles tall as the ceilings felt like a maze and Bilba was as a mouse wandering around the vast hall of Erebor’s library. She had volunteered to help Ori organize the Westron written manuscripts in an effort not to be found.

The hobbit had told her friends she was alright, just a scrap on the palms and a bump on her shoulder, but truthfully, she was still shaken up from yesterday. Honeysuckle was dead. As she rode down the streets of Dale, arrows came from the sewers beneath. By chance or fate, the pony suddenly got spooked and reared up, taking a shot meant for her-

“Ya found what yer were looking for I reckon?”

Bilba let out a startled cry, her head colliding with Dáin’s face.

Dáin stumbled back, holding his nose. “Trying to break my nozzle, lass?”

“Ohh, you!” Bilba huffed. He was the king of Erebor, but at times, he surely didn’t act like it. “If you don’t want your nose broken, then don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Feisty little pixie aren’t ya?” Nor did he look like a king. Dáin was dressed down in regular garb. A thick wooly poncho and in some comfortable looking pants with patches sewed into them. “You’ve been here since lunch. Ya planning on becoming roommates with the dust bunnies here?”

“Cataloging takes time my Lord!” Bilba patted the growing stack of books beside her. “I’m impressed at the extent of this library. It truly seems as though it can go on forever! So much to read, but such little time!” she lamented with a bittersweet sigh.

Dáin stroked his tusked beard. “It would take ya several decades I imagine,” he mused.

Bilba laughed. “More like the rest of my life!” she countered.

“Would you like that opportunity?” Dáin asked suddenly. Genuinely interested to hear her answer. “To read all the books in this library?”

Bilba’s face fell a little. “I can probably read all the Westron books here, but a good number of them are in Khuzdul…”

Dáin scratched the side of his neck. “Well… would you like to be able to read them aloud to… ahem… to little dwarrow?”

A bright grin lit up Bilba’s face. “You have children living under the Mountain already?” she asked excitedly.

The Dwarven King seemed uncharacteristically sheepish. “I-I…ahem!” he cleared his throat again. “Just look at me!” he mourned. “I can stand in front of an assembly and tell kings where to shove it, but put me in front of a pretty lass and even I stutter like a fool!”

“…Dáin?”

“What I meant, Bilbania, is for you can read to little Darrow of your own!” Dáin explained. “You see, only those married into a dwarf clan will be permitted to learn our secret language. So… would ya like that, to learn Khuzudul?”

Bilba stood there in a daze, wondering if she had misheard. Had Dáin just indirectly offered to marry her?

“You alright, lassie? You look as though you’re ‘bout to hit the ground! Not that I mind,” Dáin added with a chuckle. “I wouldn’t mind catching a lovely thing like you that is!”

Bilba was practically tongue-tied. “A-Are you sure, I mean… just, why?”

“Ain’t it obvious?” Dáin unconsciously toed one of the many dusty books stacked upon the ground around them. “I’ve been widowed for well over fifty years. I’ve had one child from my late wife, my boy, Thorin Stonehelm, who will become King Under the Mountain after me.”

Thorin the third. Bilba remembered meeting him. He was a young dwarf, perhaps just a decade older than Kíli and Fíli. He was a polite lad who remained humble throughout the ordeal, giving a hand to everyone after the battle. Not at all crass as his father is, although just as temperamental. 

“However, I am still Lord of the Iron Hills,” Dáin leveled her with a meaningful look. “A new Lord or Lady can rule in my place when the time comes.”

“…Are you offering me this just so I can bear you another heir?” Bilba asked carefully, wanting to see where Dáin’s head was at. 

Dáin paused thoughtfully, choosing to be cautious with his reply. “It’s not just ‘bout that… the company of my late cousin misses you greatly, we miss you greatly…”

Bilba felt her heart wilt.

“My dwarves of the Iron Hills have taken a fancy to you as well. You treated them like ya were their _Amad_ in the sick tents, they will never forget such kindness. But as for my advisor, Lord Durnarlig, a little too much affection went to his head!” he threw his head back and laughed.

Bilba snorted. That was the understatement.

“Ya sure ripped the poor bastard a new one when you rejected his courting gift. It was the talk of the halls, let me tell you!"

Perhaps Dáin thought it was funny, but Bilba was not amused. “If I rejected him, then what makes you so confident? Being a king alone does not impress me.”

“What can I say? I like a challenge!” Dáin winked at her saucily. “And may I be bold to say you are quite the catch! A little companionship would do me some good. It'll be also good for Erebor to have a Queen ruling by my side.”

Two faces appeared in the back of Bilba’s mind suddenly. One was a dark-haired grump of a dwarf and the other being the pale ElvenKing. Thorin, she could understand. That irritating dwarf managed to get closer to her heart than any man ever had before, but what confused her was Thranduil. She barely knew him, and yet… he was eerily just as cantankerous as Thorin! She realized with a visible face fault.

Bilba realized she must have been zoning out. The next thing she saw was a gentle smile on boar rider’s lips as he watched her patiently, if not knowingly.

“S’kay, lass, take your time,” Dáin bowed his head to her before turning around, folding his arms behind his back. “Cause I sure ain’t going anywhere!” He then left the hobbit in the dusty aisle alone with her thoughts.

* * *

It was a stroke till midnight when Thranduil galloped into Dale. The elk mount beneath him panted greedily for breath. There was no pomp and stance at his arrival. Thranduil had outrun his guards by at least a mile. No crown was upon his head and he wore no decorative armor. Thranduil was dressed out in a dark leathery vest. His hair hastily braided back. His only weapon was his long sword. 

Thranduil ignored the cries of the watchers in the guard post as he sped by. Only one thing mattered to him and it was seeing Bilba whole and breathing. When he did eventually stop it was in front of the King of Dale’s living quarters. Every room was lit and there was a flurry of activity going on. 

Bard rushed out of the Grand Hall to meet with him. “My Lord Thranduil!” He bowed his head. “Welcome to Dale. I only wished it was on better terms.”

“As do I, King Bard,” Thranduil nodded back, acknowledging him as an equal. He dismounted his wheezing elk. “Tell me, where is Bilbania?” he asked urgently. “I have come to place her under my protection.”

Bard frowned, shaking his head. “She is no longer under my charge.  It has been decided that she is safest in Erebor, under the protection of King Dáin.”

Thranduil was displeased to hear this. “How did you come by this decision?” 

Bard motioned to his hall. “Come, I will show you what we found.”

Thranduil followed quickly. Inside where his people, Thimben, his officers, and Mivera. They seemed to be in the midst of arguing with the dwarves and the men of Dale.

“Mivera! Why are you here and not with Bilbania?” Thranduil demanded.

Mivera flinched at his tone. “I was not permitted to go with her to the Mountain, my Lord! The dwarves actually considered me a security risk!” she squawked indignantly.

“You _are_ a security risk,” one of the dwarves protested. He turned a suspicious eye on every elf in the room. “You and your kin are nothing but a bunch of backstabbing pointy eared, leaf munchers!” That earned him open glares of hostility from the rest of the elven party, who had up to now, managed to keep their cool.

“Please calm down, Dwalin!” pleaded a white-bearded dwarf. Thranduil remembered him, he was called Balin.

“Master Dwalin…” Thranduil began. “You are condemning my people and have sent my guest to the King Under the Mountain, for what reason?” his tone growing steadily harsher by every word he spoke. “Please start explaining, _now.”_

Dwalin opened his mouth to retort when the elder brother stepped in with tact. “It’s best if you see for yourself, my Lord. King Bard and his men had managed to find the culprit.”

“Good,” Thranduil turned to Bard. “Let me interrogate him.”

“I’m afraid Interrogating him is out of the question,” Bard sighed mournfully. “My men, in self-defense, has slain the man when he refused to surrender. They had cornered him in the sewers. There he made his last stand.”

“We did, however, manage to recover his things, my king,” Thimben told Thranduil. He motioned for a trembling man to approach them. “This is Mattock, the innkeeper. He had rented out a room to the would-be assassin for several weeks.”

The innkeeper stepped forward with a shaky bow. Wringing his hat in his hands, he exclaimed, “I-I am truly sorry your grace! Had I known I would have never given the scoundrel room and board!”

Thranduil waved his hand dismissively. “You were unaware of his true attentions. Just tell us what you know about him to the best of your ability.”

“C-Certainly! He told me his name was Azulzir. He seemed to be a ranger by the looks of him, but his armor dull, and gear worn... I’d reckon he seen better days… he came here last month, looking for work. Pity, it seems he decided to employ himself to the wrong kind of sort!”

“Did he not wear the silver six-point star medallion on his clothing?” Thranduil asked. “All rangers carry that medallion,” he explained.

"No, my Lord," Mattock answered. "Never seen such."

Thranduil turned to Bard with a questioning look. 

“No,” Bard confirmed, shaking his head. “My men did not find it on his body or in any of his possessions. This needs to be verified of course, but it appears he has been ousted by the Dúnedain.”

“That I shall look into,” Thranduil vowed before asking, “Who do you think has hired him for this?”

“By whoever had given him these, my Lord,” Thimben answered, pointing to the weapons lying on the long table. “Some were left at the scene, others were found on the assailant’s body and the rest were found in his room.”

Thranduil leaned over the table, carefully studying the craftsmanship. The bows were short, he noted. The hammers and axes were oversized and made of a heavy iron not seen in the weapons of men. Nor did the blades have the elasticity found in Elvish weapons. The ElvenKing frowned. “This is dwarven weaponry,” he concluded, turning an accusing eye to the dwarves who glared back at him in defiance. 

“Aye, it is, but this is where it gets interesting,” Dwalin held up one of two tri-short blades that were laid out on the table. “Does this look at all familiar to you?”

“No.”

“Well it should!” the dwarf retorted. “These are our weapons! You know, the ones you confiscated when you captured us lost and starving in your benighted wood!” Dwalin lifted up another weapon. "It’s the lad’s!” he bellowed, his voice beginning to crack now. “This is Prince Fili’s throwing ax! These were specially made with his crest, see!” he held it up for all to see. “And this-” He picked up the short bow. “-is Prince Kíli’s bow!” he cried. “The same bow that was used to fire the arrows that could have slain Bilba!”

The ElvenKing was taken aback when the burly dwarf began to weep openly. Balin came over to embrace his sibling, muttering soothing words. It’s been many a moon since Thranduil had seen a dwarf cry in his presence. They were a proud race. Pride is perhaps the only thing elves and dwarves had in common, and to see such bitter tears shed in the presence of the ‘enemy’ such as him… Thranduil looked away, feeling a strange squeeze on his heart.

“Indeed…” Bard spoke up softly. “The bow was found left behind at the scene. The arrow that was fired matches the rest still unused in the sleeve.” 

Thranduil glanced down at the bloodied arrow tip. 

Another dwarf stepped forward. “Aye, aye…” He picked up a dagger set that was arranged on the table with a shrewd gleam in his eye. This one had an exotic hairstyle in the shape of a star. Thranduil recognized him as part of the company of Thorin Oakenshield.

“What is your name?” he asked.  

“I am Nori, and these are mine!” He flipped a knife over in his hand. “Forged them myself, I did, back in the blue mountains. It even has the Ri family crest on the back. Nice to have em’ back.”

Many things flooded Thranduil mind at once, but one thing stood out. “But how?” he blurted. “Your company’s weapons had been confiscated months ago by my order. When Bilbania helped you to escape down the rapids, you took nothing but yourselves. Your arms and armor were never given back…” he trailed as it began to dawn on him. 

Nori let out a mirthless laugh. “Aye, aye all true, my Lord. And yet somehow months later our weapons conveniently end up in the hands of a thankfully incompetent assassin?”

“Now do you see?” Dwalin demanded. “It had to be an elf who had planned to this! Only they could have access to the armory!”

Thranduil could hardly believe this. “It…”

Balin shook his head, his eyes deeply grieved. “It’s highly obvious what has occurred. It’s been known for weeks that our lass would be coming to celebrate Yuletides! If Bilba was successfully killed and the assaulter managed to escape without being seen or caught, you would have investigated and found the dwarven weaponry left behind and the matching arrow. You then would have blamed the dwarves. No doubt starting another war-”

“Or perhaps you could have staged all this,” Thimben rebuked sharply.

“By what logic could we possibly have done so?” Balin cried, incredulous by his statement. 

“Be silent ya tree shagger!” Dwalin swore at him. “The lads would be rolling in their graves if they had any idea the tools they used in life would be used like this to harm a single hair upon Bilba’s head!”

“And this is why I permitted Bilbania to leave my charge,” Bard injected. “It wasn’t safe here for her. In good faith, I asked your guards to remain behind until your arrival.”

Thranduil stepped back as if a physical blow had struck him. To think his own people would betray him like this! A rage built up at his core. Thranduil felt as though his inner flame, the fire of Arda, would burn him alive with his own wrath. “This _gurgof_ best be on a ship sailing West before I lay my hands on the one who would dare threaten my _Cyllartha!”_ he roared.

His people cringed and the men of Dale took an unconscious step back. Thranduil turned on his heel and charged towards the exit. “Saddle up!” he commanded his people. “We ride to Erebor!” he ordered.

“Yes, my Lord!” Thimben followed without hesitation.

The remainder of the elven party had just arrived when Thranduil exited the Grand Hall. “Stay mounted!” he told them. “We ride to Erebor!”

“Are you trying to explode the hearts of these poor animals?!” Cullas cried. “Our horses need rest, my Lord, unless we can switch with the men of Dale for fresh mounts!”

“Bard!” Thranduil called out to the King of Dale. “I am in need of fresh mounts! Sixteen horses!”

“It shall be given!” Bard hurriedly he told his men to go acquire the things Thranduil demanded.

Thranduil reseated himself on the back of his elk. The beast had managed to recover enough for the time being. He raced out of Dale and into the darkness.


	15. Disillusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Óin gives Bilba some grievous news. So, for their own sakes, Bilba and Thranduil decide to part ways, but fortunately, Dáin comes to the rescue.

The hobbit jerked awake when she heard a knocking at the door. She groaned as the pounding got louder the longer she laid on her bed in a sleepy daze. “E-Enter!”

The gray-bearded dwarf shuffled in. “Good morning, Lass!” he greeted her brightly.

“Óin…” Bilba yawned as she sat up in her bed. “…morning.” Still a bit groggy, she asked, “What are you doing here?”

“There will be no breakfast at the long table this mornin’ because the company has their hands full… so instead, you get room service!” he presented her with a tray. On it was a large bowl of creamy porridge filled with nuts, dates and sweetened with honey.

Bilba felt increasingly awake. She scooted to the end of her bed to retrieve her food. “Thank you!”

“Yer welcome,” Óin replied. He lumbered over to the chair in the corner and sat down. “Lass?”

“Yes?” Bilba answered in between spoon fulls.

“You have been avoiding our questions like the plague…” Óin began carefully. “I can understand to a degree, but, now we really need ya to be honest with us…”

"Hmrph?" Bilba looked up, her cheeks bulged out like a chipmunk hoarding nuts in its mouth pouches.

“Just what did you get yourself into?” he asked her frankly, with such brashness that only came from old age.

Bilba swallowed her mouthful. “…seemingly too much.”

Óin hummed. Taking down his ear trumpet, he began to tighten the bolts in the instrument. “Be assured that Dain will protect ye.”

Bilba frowned. “There’s nothing to protect me from…” she retracted her words when Óin raised a skeptic wooly eyebrow. “…well, _almost_ nothing, but Thranduil wouldn’t harm me intentionally.”

“Eh?” Óin looked scandalized. “What kind of intimacy!?”

“INTENTIONALLY! I said intentionally!”

“Oh,” the old healer deflated. “Well, never mind the ElvenKing. It’s best to avoid him! His people don’t even want you in Mirkwood, so just stay here with us!”

His words stung. Bilba liked the Silvan elves and she enjoyed living amongst them. For them to betray her like this really hurt Bilba. Did they not want her or her theoretical child around? Well, they didn’t have to worry about her anymore. Bilba had already decided she would never return to the Woodland Realm. This coming spring, she would be gone just as they had wanted.

“So, where are you going today?” Óin asked her suddenly.

If Bilba paid attention, she would have found his question suspicious, but by being distracted she answered, “I’m going back to the library. The staff and I barely made a dent in straightening out the north section.”

“Alrighty then, make sure to take it easy. Lifting those heavy books seems the opposite of rest if ya ask me!”

“Óin, being around books and handling them remind me of my father’s study in Hobbiton,” Bilba explained. “It’s very therapeutic for me.”

“If you say so…” The old healer shrugged as he continued to linger. “Lassie…”

“What is it, Óin?”

“I didn’t have the heart to mention this before, during the examination I performed on you, but I think you may be premenopausal-”

“What?!” Bilba balked. “You think I’ve already hit menopause?”

“Possibly, but I think you’re more borderline. It makes sense from what you have told me of yer symptoms. The tender breasts and random hot flashes… not to mention you apparently failed to conceive 10 days ago when those elves did that Nesti, er, or is it Netoto?”

Bilba flushed. _“Nestaóim,”_ she corrected him sheepishly.

‘Yeah that… and not to worry, I haven’t told a soul ‘bout that.”

“Does this mean I am now unable to have children?” Bilba asked fearfully.

“Technically you can still bear, but for however long I do not know. As each month passes the harder it will be to conceive. You best pick yer husband quickly!” he gave her a meaningful look. “The King Under the Mountain has approached you the other day, correct?”

Bilba narrowed her eyes with suspicion. “What has Dain told you?”

“Nothing, but things tend to get around. Will you accept his proposal? He’s already picking out a courting gift I hear.”

“His arrogance has no bounds I see,” Bilba gritted out irritably.

“It’s yer choice, but I advise you to think carefully, Bilba. It's better to have an unpolished ruby in one hand than having two zircons in both!”

"...what?"

"A dwarvish proverb. Take it to heart!"

* * *

Bilba was beginning to get suspicious. Her “busy” friends never left her side for an instant. They would switch out like there were changing shifts at the mines. There were also the guards. Stationed on every corner where she happened to be. It was normal to see a random guard here or there, but not like this.

Bilba could feel their eyes following her steps.

Finally, Bilba had had enough. She excused herself to use the lavatory, the only privacy she had gotten this day. Bilba slipped on her magic ring while she was there. Slipping out past a guard who has conveniently positioned himself near the washroom. Another guard walked by and had paused briefly to exchange pleasantries with his kin. They spoke in Khuzdul. Normally Bilba couldn’t understand the language, but thanks to her lucky trinket, she heard it all as if it had been in westron.

“I can’t believe he would dare show his face here!” one complained. “After his own people have tried to kill our dwarf-friend! Such scum has no honor and no shame!”

So, that’s why there was so much added security, Thranduil was here! Bilba realized, and not one of her companions had dared to mention so.

“The king is still interrogating him, I hear,” the other guard muttered. “Dáin is getting too lenient. He should have never let those pixies in here! It’s bad luck, mark my words!”

“Lord Dáin still has some sense,” the other argued. “He only let in three of 'em. The rest were left outside our kingdom.” The dwarf paused to look up at the clock. “Well, It’s nearing the twelfth hour. Time for me to relieve Helgrug. I’m sure he’ll be glad to stop babysitting a bunch of fayes for at least an hour!”

The soldier departed. Bilba followed behind him on tipping toes, careful not to let her feet be heard. The guard passed by many other dwarves, greeting them cheerily as he went. He walked near the entrance of Erebor where some of the undamaged apartment buildings resided. Once she knew which suite the elves were in, Bilba created a diversion with the sounds of her ghostly footsteps. The dwarf frowned. “Who goes there?!” he demanded. He left his post to investigate down the hall, leaving the door unattended for just a moment. That moment was all that was needed. Bilba slipped in unnoticed. 

Sitting in the common room were Cullas and Mivera. The elf-maid was currently fuming while Cullas laughed at her expense about something said before Bilba entered the room. Mivera rolled her eyes. “Be silent, Cullas! I have no time for you!”

“Until we find Lady Bilba, we have all the time in the world!” he refuted brightly.

“Why don’t you check up on His Majesty?” Mivera suggested.

“Get behind me, Morgoth!” Cullas rebuked her. “You know I cannot stand to be around my kin’s ill temper! I would rather sail west than put up with his foul mood for the next thousand years!”

Bilba snuck behind the curtain and slipped off her ring. “Hello,” She came out physically from behind the drape, startling both Cullas and Mivera by her sudden appearance.

Cullas patted his chest. “Well, it’s a mighty good thing I do not have a weak heart!”

“Oh, Lady Bilba!” Mivera cried happily. Her handmaiden rushed over and embraced her with an ecstatic hug. “My heart sings to see you!”

Cullas came up behind them. “It’s good to see you are well, my Lady! But how did you manage to elude the guards?”

“I am a thief,” Bilba replied. “I choose when to be seen and not heard. If I want something, I will take it, and what I want right now is to see Thranduil.”

Cullas bowed, motioning to the closed door leading into the inner chamber. “He’s all yours.”

Mivera nodded to Bilba, releasing her. “Go to him, the King will be glad to see you are well!”

Bilba entered the room. Thranduil was standing near the fireplace, his back to her. He was dressed in dark leathery armor with his hair pulled into a high ponytail. “Thranduil,” she called softly. 

At the calling of his name, the ElvenKing whirled around. “Bilbania!” he exclaimed. The relief on his face shone like rays of sunshine across a gray tundra. Bilba stood still, taken aback at his reaction. She had never seen the ElvenKing so exceedingly happy before. She merely blinked and Thranduil was on his knees in front of her. “ _Ni gellwey an gin cened!”_ he cried, pulling her into a hug, his arms encasing her whole body.

The hobbit giggled and she embraced him back. “I cannot understand you, silly elf!”

Thranduil pulled back and translated. “I said, “I am joyful to see you whole”, my _Cyllartha!”_ He kissed her hands, his lips lingering. Bilba shivered as her skin tingled against his warm touch. The ElvenKing continued to hold onto her as if she was a phantom set vanish within an instant. “I am sorry your life was placed in such peril under my care,” he apologized fervently. “It shall never happen again!” he vowed. “Once we return to the Woodland Realm-” Bilba felt her heart sink with dread. “-I will undergo a thorough investigation and I will assign a personal bodyguard until-”

“Thranduil,” Bilba interrupted him. She couldn’t allow him to think like this. After what has happened, she knew in her heart there was no going back for them.

“Yes, dearest Bilbania?” the ElvenKing replied.

“Dear?" Bilba was surprised to hear such an affectionate term from him. "Am I really dear to you?” the hobbit asked him.

The intense look in Thranduil’s eyes bore into her very being. “Verily I say unto you, yes,” he answered.

“Then…” Bilba’s hands trembled. Thranduil squeezed them as a form of comfort, but it brought greater sorrow to her heart. “…then please... release me.”

The ElvenKing stared at her, becoming still as a statue. The only audible sounds in the room were the crackling flames from the hearth. “Bilbania,” he said suddenly, causing her to jump. “Do you not believe I can protect you?”

“It’s… it’s not that!” she insisted.

“Then you no longer wish for me to be your _Eredhóneth?”_

“Oh, how I wish you could have been!” Bilba cried, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. She turned her head away.

“Bilbania, look at me!” Thranduil turned her face back to his. “Please, tell me what is amiss!”

“I spoke with a dwarvish healer while here… he believes I am entering menopause.”

“That..." words seemed to fail him. "That cannot be so!” Thranduil rebutted. “Let’s have Cullas-”

Bilba placed her fingers against the ElvenKing’s lips to silence him. “No, my Lord,” she shook her head. “I think that's the reason why I probably didn’t conceive during the _Nestaóim_ …” her voice was beginning to crack, tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “…it may be too late!”

Thranduil’s countenance fell like a cave-in. “I am sorry, my dear one!” he mourned. “If only the _Nestaóim_ had been done sooner-”

“You have done everything you could!" Bilba pleaded for him to understand. "Do not let your heart be troubled by me any longer.”

Thranduil shook his head. “Nay, I cannot stop, my heart refuses to obey!” he sobbed. “Tell me, what is it your plan if we cannot have a child?”

“I..." Bilba swallowed, she hesitated to tell him of Dáin, so instead, she admitted her plans. "...I thought of returning home."

“Why, and to who?” Thranduil blurted. “Just so you can be all alone in your smial around your nagging relatives?”

Bilba hiccupped wetly. She didn’t know whether to cry or laugh at his truthful statement.

“Stay with me,” Thranduil pleaded.

The hobbit felt her heart break just a little more. “Thranduil, please, there is no reason for me to stay with you anymore. Besides, I am not even wanted by your people!”

“Who would tell you such a falsehood?” the ElvenKing demanded. “Many welcome you! I welcome your presence! Stay, and I will care for you until the end of your days!” he searched her face. His tense features slackened when he realized, “Is there something else you are not telling me?”

Bilba let out a breath. Nothing could get by this elf. “It’s King Dáin…” she confessed. “He’s asked me to marry him.”

Appearing as if he had been sucker punched, Thranduil sat back on his hunches in surprise. “And... what was your answer?” 

Bilba dropped her eyes once more.  “Why shouldn’t I accept Dáin’s proposal?” she asked, but Thranduil did not answer. “Tell me, why not?” she repeated. “Maybe with time I could… I could…” she faltered.

“You could what?” Thranduil sneered.

“Love him.”

* * *

Her confession had caught Thranduil off guard.

“If I cannot bear children, then perhaps I can at least find love,” she reasoned.

“Do I not care for you?” Thranduil demanded, feeling betrayed. “Why must you seek love elsewhere?”

“What kind of love can you give me but that of a friend?” Bilba challenged him.

Thranduil closed his eyes. He inhaled deeply to steady himself, or else he feared he would lose it in the waves of emotion. “Bilbania, you know I can’t,” it grieved him to say, but the truth needed to be said. “Elves marry once. Elves love…” Thranduil trailed when he realized it was no longer true, at least for him.  

“I know,” Bilba began to finish for him. “Elves love once-” 

“No!” Thranduil interrupted her with a strangled cry.How could he have let this happen? What a fool he was to leave his heart unguarded these fleeting few weeks, and like a burglar, Bilbania had slipped in to steal it. “That’s not true!”

The hobbit stared at him dumbfounded. Thranduil cupped her chin with his hand as he searched her face with half-lidded eyes. He wondered what would it be like to taste her and to know her in such an intimate way. He began to close the space between them.

“T-Thranduil!” there was a nervous hitch in Bilbania’s voice. “W-What are you doing?”

“Your skin has always tasted as nectar to my tongue,” he murmured, his voice tender. Thranduil bent his neck further down, eyeing her lips reverently. “If your skin is as honey then how sweet are your lips?” One hand became two as he cupped the sides of her flushing cheeks. Thranduil’s slender fingers weaved themselves into her brown locks as he slowly brought his own lips down to meet hers.

It was glorious! A blazing glory of every euphoria as his senses burst forth like the breaking of a dam. How long they kissed, Thranduil didn't know. Everything seemed out of time, but when it was over, the ElvenKing found himself feeling unsated and his dearest Bilbania was out of breath. He lingered against her heaving mouth… if a mere taste of her left him yearning then what could it possibly take to satisfy him? His heart raged like a rapid at that terrifying thought infiltrated his mind. 

Her eyes glistened like liquid diamonds. “Th-Thranduil…?” she breathed, completely breathless.

This little hobbit didn't understand the hold she had on him. Thranduil pulled his face away as if he had been seared with a heated iron. He couldn’t respond. He couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way about anyone! Bilbania was like a precious jewel that was once again stolen by the _Naugrim_. Thranduil felt his heart breaking, how did she give him one treasure back just for another to be taken from him?

Thranduil let out a breath and wailed, “Alas! You are a thief, Bilbania! You steal from the heart of kings and leave them wanting! Go!” he released her. Thranduil didn’t show his face as he turned away. His hair blocking his expression. “I wish you happiness with Dáin. Grow old together!”

He rose to his feet and made his way back to the fire pit, staring down lifelessly into the dancing flame.

* * *

It was with a heavy heart to leave him, but Bilba did. “G-Goodbye, my beloved Thranduil...” she whispered.

Bilba couldn’t lift her eyes to meet Cullas or Mivera as she fled. The door banged open, startling the guard stationed outside the room. Bilba slipped on her ring just in the nick of time to escape during the midst of confusion. She managed to make it back to her room before breaking down. Bilba wept bitterly in her chambers, realizing she couldn’t marry Dáin, not when she loved another, however she couldn’t have Thranduil either.

She pulled herself up, determined. It was time to go home. Bilba packed up her things. Not many things were to be sacked, she had left most of her possessions in the Woodland Palace. A place Bilba dared not to enter again, so instead she took the liberty of a water skin and some cram, cheese, nuts and smoked meat from Erebor’s pantries.

Bilba hastily wrote two letters and left them on her bed. Not wanting to say goodbye, Bilba knew her friends wouldn’t allow her to leave in peace. She slipped out through the secret passageway, the door the company used to infiltrate Erebor during their journey and made her way down the path.

It took her an hour out the way, but it was for the best. Bilba had slipped off her ring once she climbed to the bottom of Thrór’s statue. She had grown weary of wearing it. Bilba noticed how it increasingly sapped her strength as of late and couldn’t understand why. She knew If she wore it for longer periods of time, she would feel ill, but this circumstance was different.

Bilba felt herself getting strangely warm instead of growing cold with the setting of the sun. Not feverish in a way, but her core felt hot, she had begun to sweat in the wind of the icy night, which was ridiculous. She huffed, menopause indeed. In the moonlight, she could see her breath rising from her lips as ghostly vapors. 

“What are you doing here Lady Baggins? It is not safe for you to wander alone.”

Bilba shrieked like an owl, nearly jumping up a foot into the air in surprise.

“Be still, my Lady!” an elf stepped forward with a hand placed over the hilt of his sword.

“Oh, Master Thimben!”  she recognized him. Bilba patted her chest, trying to calm her racing heart. “… wait, _Thimben?_ What are you doing here in the middle of nowhere and at this time of night!?” she demanded.

The gray-haired elf tilted his head to the side as he observed her. “Should I be asking the same of you?” he questioned. His eyes latching on with the accuracy of a hawk as he analyzed Bilba. He eyed her startled face, her oversized coat and the food and water bags slung over her shoulder. “Where are you wandering off to this time of night?”

Bilba let out a defeated breath. “Unlike you, I am not wandering!” she corrected him. “I am traveling home.”

At her words, the elf’s eyes shined in the moonlight in an eerie way. “Does the king knows of this?”

The hobbit shrugged. “He will find out soon I suppose, but it shouldn’t matter. I had already parted ways with both the ElvenKing and King Dáin. May they both prosper and their reigns long. My presence is nothing but a bother to them both.”

“Is that all you wish now?” he inquired. “To go home? You have given up the _Nestaóim?”_

“Aye, I have. It was a silly dream.” 

The elf-captain stood motionless as he muddled over her words, his eyes calculating. Finally deciding on something, Thimben removed his hand from the hilt of his weapon. “My Lady, allow me to show you the way,” he volunteered. “The Woodland Realm is still treacherous. It will bring comfort to Lord Thranduil to know you have made it safely through the woods.”

Bilba smiled up at him. “I happily welcome your guidance! Thank you for being kind to me, Master Thimben.”

“One kindness deserves another,” Thimben strolled in front of her, his steps determined. “Thank you for releasing the king of his oath.”

Bilba paused at his words, not sure how to respond to his remark.

“Do not dawdle, let us be off!” he called back.

Bilba hurried forth, the snow crunching under her feet. “Y-Yes!” A guide was better than none she supposed.

* * *

It was nearing midnight when Cullas cautiously approached his kin. He did not know what was said between the two, but to see the hobbit fleeing the room on the verge of tears and now his King drinking several bottles of wine, left little to speculate.

"What is it?" Thranduil droned dejectedly. "Do the dwarves want something?"

"Not at the moment," Cullas said. “My Lord, I must ask you… _De melil?”_

Thranduil slumped further into his chair. Letting out a breath he confessed,  _“De melin.”_  

“Then why are you moping in these cavern halls?” Cullas demanded. “Go tell her that you love her!”

“No!” Thranduil told him wearily. His conversation with Bilbania replayed in his mind without rest. And the memory of her kiss broke his heart just a little more. “It’s… it’s none of your concern. We shall leave at dawn and never return-”

“Is it because Bilbania is mortal?” Cullas demanded.

Thranduil went rigid in his seat. “Let it lay, cousin,” he warned.

Cullas confronted him to his face. “No! You listen to me, _cousin._  I understand if you cannot take her as a wife, but at least do not let her go! You will rue this day for the rest of your existence-”

Thranduil finally lost his temper and roared, “BE SILENT! I may choose her, but she has not chosen me! She has chosen Dáin!”

“O-Oh, I… I see!” Cullas reared back in surprise, his eyes wide. “I spoke without knowing, I am sorry, my Lord!”

Thranduil deflated. “Nothing to be sorry about,” he sighed. He took up more of the wine the dwarves had given to him and drunk straight from the bottle. “It’s rightly so. King Dáin is a much better suitor for her. Both are mortal, he can make her a queen and if she can still bear, he can give a kingdom to her offspring to rule once he passes. I can do none of which I’d listed.”

“You still can give her your love,” Cullas replies. “If I truly know the hobbit I have been treating these past weeks, then I will say your love _is_ efficient for her!” he declared.  

Thranduil paused, looking at the empty bottle in his hand, but his mind was not on cheap wine. “I'm not good enough this time, Cullas. Bilbania wants the love of a lover, a husband, someone I cannot become,” he replied sadly.

The healer fell silent in defeat. 

“I lost what is most precious to a dwarf,  _twice._ First Araseth's legacy to Thrór's greed, and now Bilbania to Dáin,” Thranduil chuckled bitterly at the irony. “Belegorn and Silvireth would laugh if they could see my pitiful hide from the waiting halls!”

Cullas shook his head. “Your brothers would weep, my Lord, to see your suffering. Unlike them, we have survived Doriath, but to what cause? Just to wallow in heartache?”

“What heartache you suffered that I haven’t known?” Thranduil retorted, only to wince with regret at how crass he sounded.

Cullas paused, letting out a breath. “I have. I’ve known heartache for the past 300 years when I had foolishly let the one I loved go. Not once, but twice.”

Thranduil was floored. “You were in love once?” he couldn’t recall his cousin ever courting anyone.

“We are all in love at least once!” Cullas laughed, but his smile did not reach his eyes. “For my case, I was once too high on propriety to pledge myself freely. In the end, it cost me her hand in marriage. She wedded another-”

Voices outside the room grew steadily louder, as did the curses of Khuzdul. Some crude phrases Thranduil recognized. He rolled his eyes. “The first thing I always hear are the dwarves!” he lamented.

“They are a loud race no doubt,” Cullas commented.

“My Lord Thranduil,” Mivera opened the door with a bow of her head. She stepped to the side allowing Dáin to enter. He came in dressed in a furry robe and wearing the raven crown on his forehead, signaling this was official business. His guards tried to follow him in, but Dáin shooed them away. “I can fend for myself, lads. Keep the elf-lass company for a moment, would ya?”

Mivera made a face as they closed the door back.

“We need to talk!” the dwarf-king announced. He sat down on the footstool, in front of the chair Thranduil was sitting in.

The mere sight of Dáin filled Thranduil with envy and contempt, but he buried his feelings. Hiding them beneath an icy mask of pleasantry. Thranduil sat up straight in his seat. “What is the matter you wish to speak about, Lord Dáin?” he inquired. 

Dáin watched him carefully with a shrewd glint in his eye under those bushy brows. “She’s gone,” he stated simply.

Thranduil jerked forward at the unexpected news. “What!?”

“Bilba left around sundown.”

“I fail to understand this…” Thranduil frowned, showing his confusion. “… certainly, she would stay for you?”

“You think that do ya?” Dáin snorted. “She snuck out around twilight we guess since we were unable to find her for supper. It’s impressive, though,” he stroked his beard. “For her to make it past my guards without alerting the watchers. Clever little beauty, isn’t she?” Dáin sighed. “I could not tame her... Madam Bilba will submit only to one she finds worthy.”

The ElvenKing sighed dejectedly right along with him, “Then we both must have fallen short,” he mourned.

“Not us all, at least you can stop weeping like the maiden left for shame at the altar!” Dáin grumbled. “There is only enough room under this mountain for one of us to lick our wounds like the pathetic dogs we are.”

“Then I will depart from here immediately,” Thranduil decided. He stood to his feet with the grace he’s master over the last five thousand years.

“Hey! Yer not listening to what I’m tryin’ to say!” Dáin shouted, getting angry. “Shows how much you don’t deserve her if you were to ask me!” he raged. “But nooo, she chooses ya, an ill-tempered fool of a faye!”

“What… what did you just say?” Thranduil asked, startled.

Dáin merely shook his head with disgust. “Do you have a wax build up? I said she chose you!” he retorted.

“She… Bilbania has rejected your proposal?” the ElvenKing asked disbelievingly. 

“Eyep, she did. See this letter?” Dáin held it up to Thranduil. “One written to me and the other to her friends. In mine, she said her heart belonged to another. I thought she meant my dearly departed cousin for a moment there, and perhaps she did. However, I now know that’s not who she was referring to…”

A curious feeling burst forth in Thranduil's chest at this revelation. A warmth began to spread to his limbs, heating him to his bones, and his heart felt full like the blossom of azaleas in the springtime. 

Cullas stood off to the side nodding to himself. “Never doubted her for a moment.”

“May Mahal bless her and keep her!” Dáin prayed. “Personally, I don’t know what she sees in you!”

Thranduil’s eyebrow ticked from annoyance. He countered, “And personally, I can see what she _didn’t_ see in you.”

“Ah-hahaha!” Dáin forced a smile. “I will be generous today and let that snide go, justa prove you wrong!” the dwarf got to his feet and folded his hands behind his back. “Now that you have been enlightened by this development would ya kindly do us all a favor and… GET OFF YER DEARIE AND GO GET HER BACK??!” he finished with a yell.

Thranduil glared at Dáin as he massaged his ringing ears. “I don’t know where she has gone.”

“Why does that worry ya?” the King Under the Mountain replies. “All she’s got is a head start. Find her and convince her to stay, but make sure to remove the bloated spider from your ranks who tried to do her in! Oh, also, I recommend making her an ambassador. I've heard very positive feedback from the last trade agreements with her in the mix. My people would rather deal with a lovely lass like her than the rest of you twiggy imps!”

“The feeling is mutual,” Thranduil retorted without heat. He inclined his head to Dáin with gratitude. “Till next time, King Dáin… and thank you.”

Dáin nodded. “Visit with her for Durin’s day, alright? Farewell, King Thranduil!” He left the room calling his guards to escort the ElvenKing to the entrance and to bring their mounts from the stables.

“Shall we ride after her?” Cullas asked eagerly.

Thranduil gave him a determined nod. “We ride to find Bilbania!” he confirmed.

 


	16. Saboteur III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the gates of triumph, an elf's worst nightmare comes to pass.

The dwarves didn’t allow our king to enter the mountain armed or with his guards as a security precaution. It infuriated me greatly to see my lord giving into the demands of the  _Naugrim_. Woe is me to have a leader who lacks so much self-preservation! Since we were denied entrance, my troops and I camped out on the slopes of Erebor. In hopes of ousting my anger, I had volunteered to be a scouter.

During my patrol, whether it be luck or fate, I caught sight of the hobbit alone. I readied my hand on the hilt of my sword as I advanced with the intention to kill her, that is until I learned she no sought to dishonor my king. A hard lesson she has learned, but one worthwhile for all of us. I decided to personally escort her away just to be sure she will not return. Nor shall my king have any reason to look for her out of concern for her safety.

We managed to borrow a boat from Dale and traveled downstream, cutting our time in half. The hobbit slept fretfully at my feet the entire night with complaints of “Hot!” and “Bloody menopause!” meeting my ears sporadically. Dawn was breaking over the horizon when we arrived at borders of the Woodland Realm.

Unfortunately, the time we gained is now being taken back by her bothersome lagging. I wish she would keep up. The longer she drags the shorter the distance we put between here and Erebor. I could hear her sluggish footsteps as she continued to follow me for the most part until suddenly she stopped, slouching to her knees.

I turned to look back at her. “Lady Baggins, please keep up, you’re falling behind again-” I stopped in midsentence when I caught sight of her. She looked worse for wear than I could have imagined.

“It’s… it’s hot!” she gasped, beads of sweat could be seen rolling down her forehead. “I feel so hot!”

I placed the back of my hand against her forehead and, indeed, it was sweltering hot. “You are feverish. Sit down at the roots of this tree while I go to find some yarrow.”

As I turned away to find the herb, I felt a sudden pulse in the air. I paused. The hobbit began to groan louder. “What was…” I turned back to see the hobbit suddenly glowing with a bright light.

“W-What is happening to me!?” Madam Baggins asked, sounding and looking terrified by her new luminous state. Another pulse came from her. It was like sparks of light flickering until it roared into an inferno. The deafening pulse that followed nearly knocked all my senses out.

Then the light began to fade. Retrieving inwardly as a hermit crab would recoil its shell, settling at the core of Madam’s Baggin's womb. “This cannot be…!!” I tried to deny. Even though it was now contained, I could still see the unmistakable fire of Arda within her. It burned so brightly like a star belonging to the firstborn! Not even my son, when my  _Cyllartha_ carried him, compared to the light I see shining from the hobbit. 

“It’s…could this really be…?” the hobbit placed her hands on her belly and gasped as if she had been jolted by something. “…it’s …it’s my baby!” she breathed in awed disbelief. “I can’t b-believe this! Thimben!” she grabbed my hand excitedly and placed my palm against her flat abdomen. “I’m not menopausal! I’m with child!”

What I felt inside her made the fine hairs on my back stand up. The light and energy pulsing from this monstrosity overcame me relentlessly as a tidal surge. I snatched my hand away in frightful disgust.

The hobbit began to weep openly with joy as she cried out loud, “He… he has fulfilled his promise after all!”

I turned away in order to think. Now I understood my grievous error. Her apparent “fever” was nothing other than the flame of Arda igniting within a mortal. Such creatures were never meant to hold a living fire within them. I cursed my foolishness for not striking her down when I had the chance. Now she carried one of my race. It is unlawful to strike the innocent blood of kin-

“I have to go back,” she announced.

I whirled around. “Excuse me?” I couldn’t believe what she was saying, much less believing this nightmare was actually happening.

“Thranduil deserves to know,” the hobbit explained. “And… and I can’t leave without him knowing about our baby!”

“Oh, he knows,” I practically growled. “Believe me, he knows.”

Being her _Eredhóneth_ , the king would know the instant this abomination came into existence. It was certain he will come and not let her pass the border, not while his heir resided in her belly. Oh, my lords of old… forgive me, for I have failed you!

The hobbit tugged gently on my armor. “Master Thimben? Please, I need you to guide me back to the Woodland Palace.”

This cannot be allowed!

I glanced down, hoping my loathing did not show through my façade as I hardened my heart against her. “Follow me,” I turned on my heel going off the path into the dense trees. "A-Alright, thank you, Master Thimben,” there was hesitation in her voice, but the hobbit still followed me.

In this forest, she shall die this day, but not by hand. The bane of the Woodland Realm shall devour her and be rid of the disgrace she now carries within her womb. 


	17. Outlast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil learns he’s going to be a father and Thimben betrays Bilba, but she gets rescued by some unexpected allies.

“But my Lord, Thimben isn’t one to abandon his post like this,” Mivera pleaded on her _Eredhóneth's_ behalf, concerned lines etching into her face. "He puts duty above everything else, even kin."

Indeed, he was not. The behavior of his captain eluded the ElvenKing. The guards had assumed their captain must have run into trouble and had formed search parties to look for him, however, their searches that had turned up empty thus far.

“But Mivera, don’t you find it at all strange that Thimben and Lady Bilba would leave together?” Cullas questioned her. “Especially without a word to anyone?”

“No more time can be spared. We must move on,” Thranduil ordered impatiently. Something in his spirit felt unsettled at this latest development. “We move out when the last of the scouters return, Calemir! You are now in charge of this platoon.”

An elf with dirty blonde hair and green colored eyes, answered him without hesitation. “As you command, my Lord!”

Thranduil reseated himself on the back of his elk. “Why do I feel that I go through captains as I do wine bottles as of late?” he lamented to himself.

His thoughts immediately going to Tauriel. He had lifted her banishment after the burial of Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews, but she declined. Disappearing the very next day. Her fate was out of his hands, just as his son was, and now possibly, Bilbania’s. A sense of dread overcame Thranduil. What if he could not find her in time-

“My Lord!” The last scouting party has finally returned. The elf galloped up to the ElvenKing and announced jovially, “We have a trail! It leads back south towards Dale. I have already sent two riders ahead to investigate!”

Thranduil inclined his head to him. “Good work, we shall make haste to… to-” he paused in midsentence when he suddenly felt a pulse go through him. He gasped aloud as the fire of Arda within him quivered violently.

“Lord Thranduil!” his people cried as they watched in horror as their strong leader wobbled in his saddle. “Are you alright?!”

Thranduil didn’t answer. He hunched forward, enduring an unseen force tugging at his inner fire until a small part was severed from him. In the spirit, Thranduil could see the tiny flame. Its radiance nearly overbearing his senses and then it began to pulse like a heartbeat.

Every wave emitted from the flickering light filled Thranduil with such warmth. An ebullient grin spreads across his face. He has experienced this before, nearly two-thousand years prior, and it was no less exhilarating to witness the birth of a new soul coming into existence.  

Cullas eased back a little at the sight. “…are you delirious, my Lord?”

Thranduil was irked by the question. “How can you associate my smiles with me being out of my mind?” he gritted. “It’s Bilbania!” he announced. His countenance swiftly changing back to one of joy. “She is with-” Thranduil broke his sentence with a gasp when he felt another tug at his _Fëa_.

“Again?" he cried in disbelief.

“What is wrong my Lord?!”

“It... it's two—no, wait... what is this?!" he exclaimed. 

Thranduil was hardly aware that he had fallen from his elk saddle and was now flat on his back on the ground, his ankle twisted in the leather stirrup. Cullas rushed over to see to him. His face frantic and pale, but Thranduil didn’t see him. Only the three dancing flames in front of his eyes held his attention. If anything could compare to these precious lights to him, it would be the radiance of the Silmarils.

Those new _Fëas_ then departed from him, going to their mother. Thranduil laid there in awe, fatherly pride swelling in his chest. His grin threatened to slice off his face as he began to chuckle with joy.

Cullas’ eyes widen in alarm. “I think he’s really delirious this time. Must have hit his head hard from the fall!” He ran his hand behind Thranduil’s head to check for bumps.

Reality came back to Thranduil at once. “I am fine, Cullas.” He pushed the hand of the healer away.

Cullas sent him a wary look. “Maybe you should rest for a moment and let me check you-”

“No, I cannot stop!” Thranduil got up from the ground in a hurry. “Bilbania is with child, my children!” he announced triumphantly.  

His people were stunned by the news.

“Uh…” Cullas appeared speechless for once, but then he offered, “…congratulations? Wait…d-did you say plural as in children?”

“Yes, I did,” Thranduil confirmed.  

Mivera gasped in amazement. “T-Truly, my Lady carries?” she asked, sounding thrilled. “But…” she trailed looking confused. “…it’s been nearly two weeks!” Mivera turned her eyes to the stunned healer for an explanation. “How can this be?”

“Well… I could have miss calculated her ovulation day,” Cullas admitted. “The time frame I picked was based on the information I had collected from Lady Bilba. But by her being under constant stress from traveling on the road for months and undereating, it could have thrown off her menstrual cycle… or delay it.”

Thranduil’s eyes widen, desperation filling its depths. “I must find her—no! I _will_ find them!” he vowed fervently.

* * *

Bilba was beginning to feel uneasy as she followed behind Thimben. The woods grew steadily denser and darker with every step. Birds could no longer be heard chirping, only the sounds were of dry, brittle wood snapping beneath their feet.

The hobbit lass rested a hand protectively over abdomen. Warm pulses of life continued to beat beneath her hand as a steady drumbeat. It was indescribably beautiful, and it was her only source of comfort as she followed behind.

Suddenly Thimben came to an abrupt stop.

Bilba mustered up her courage and asked, “Uh, Master Thimben, just where are we going? I am sure we should have reached the Palace by now…”

 _“Pi ídhron garth eingarnen, im câr!”_ the elf growled in response.

Bilba began to ease back when she heard him say that. A familiar Sindarin phrase: “If I want something done, I must do it myself!” Her instructor, Nessa, would utter such a phrase in frustration when her students failed to complete a task.

“I do not want to do this...” Thimben told her flatly in Westron. “But I am left with little choice.”

As a snake could strike without warning, so did this elf. He turned so quickly and suddenly to snatch the locket from around her neck, Bilba couldn’t react in time. She fell forward by the force of his yank. His other hand fisted roughly into her hair. She shrieked in surprised pain.

“Save your breath!” Thimben sneered. “For no one will hear your cries here this far south of the patrol borders.” He leaned in and whispered callously. “Let me tell you the real reason behind the Winter Solstice festivities. It’s not just a hunting party for fun. It is a way of population control.”

A chill went through Bilba at his explanation.

“The deer serve as the spiders’ primary food source. The more bucks they have to feast on during the winter months mean more spiders in the spring.”

He lifted her up. Bilba found herself dangling over a dark and ominous looking pit beneath her feet. She could hear the faint sound of hissing and skitters in the shadows.

“Beneath us are some hatchlings that were born this season. I had found this pocket nest on one of my patrols some weeks back. I am glad I spared it until now. The bane of this forest will finally be of use to devour the bane of my people.”

Bilba desperately clawed at his wrist, trying to get free of his grip. “S-Stop! Please don’t do this!” she cried. “At least spare my child! Please have mercy!”

Mentioning the babe only made the elf captain more furious. “The abomination within you is the reason why I cast you here! You have defiled the lineage of the Sindar Kings and that is unforgivable!”

“When Thranduil finds out about this-”

“Just who do you think you are, halfling?” He demanded. “Do you think the king will actually care where you have gone or what is being done to you? You are nothing but a hairless rabbit from a hole in the ground who managed to crawl to his feet!”

Thimben attempted to retrieve the sword at her hip, but Bilba resisted. She scratched and bit at any exposed skin she could reach on the elf.

“Aaargh!” the elf cried out in surprised pain. “Rabid beast!” he slammed her against a tree. Her back exploded in pain, causing Bilba to black out. While she was fading in and out of consciousness, Thimben had taken the liberty of stripping her of her locket and her only weapon.

“We were ambushed in the Wilderness,” Thimben told her as if he was reciting a tale. “Your trinkets are the only things that I managed to retrieve from your withered remains. Farewell!” He hurled her down into the pit.

Bilba managed to break her fall, not landing on her belly or striking her head, but it caused her hands to scrape horribly against the rock and thorns. Bilba forced herself to rise with a noticeable limp, even though she was still dizzy and slightly incoherent. As she tried to take a step, she stumbled in place, the sticky webbing on the ground impaired her movements.

In the densest parts of the thickets, Bilba could see hundreds of red eyes staring at her hungrily. With no sword and no magic ring to protect her, Bilba had never felt so vulnerable. She whimpered, wrapping her arms around herself. That’s when she felt an urgent vibe pulsating from her young.

The baby. How did she forget so quickly that she was not fighting for herself? All fear left Bilba at that moment as she focused on the life she now carried. For its sake, she had to keep on fighting. Thimben didn’t think it deserved a chance to live, but she sure begged to differ.

By this time several of the spiders crawled out of the underbrush. They were smaller than the ones she faced before, but they were no less threatening. They were about the size of dogs as they scurried forward in a hurry to claim the fresh meat presented to them.

With adrenaline pumping through her veins, Bilba tore off a low hanging tree branch. She swung the branch as one would a club. “Get back, you vermin!”

On the first swing, all Bilba got was air. On the return, it struck a spider across its pinchers. Unfortunately, for her, it had only succeeded in pissing it off. It hissed angrily before charging forward again.

“No!” she cried, throwing all her strength into another attack, she swung her branch again. This time she hit hard enough to knock it to its side. Bilba began to slam and beat back any others who dared to approach her. Jabbing them in their eyes were also effective.

Bilba managed to rip out of the web and run about, trying to find higher ground, but it was no use. The ravine was too steep for her to climb. Many more spiders assaulted her now. The smaller ones, the size of a house cat tried biting at her feet with their pinchers.

Through the pain and the relentless barrage, Bilba continued to fight, but she was beginning to tire out. The spiders could see her fatigue as a well. Their strategy was to overwhelm her with their numbers. Even the littlest spiders no longer tried to bite her but were beginning to spin webs on her.

Suddenly a light appeared. Bilba lifted her eyes to see a large white elk glowing in the darkness with an ethereal glow to its presence. It stood at the top of the ravine as it observed the scene below. Bilba recognized it right away. It was the same beast Thorin had taken a shot at during their journey.  

The elk then did something she did not expect. It suddenly leaped down, landing squarely on the back of a particularly large adolescent spider. Crushing it under its weight. It’s guts spilling out from the sides. The elk jumped from the carcass and charge in with its antlers, throwing off the spiders surrounding Bilba and squashing the smaller ones beneath his hooves. With no hopes of overtaking the elk, the spiders abandoned their prey and retreated.

Bilba stood there stunned with red sweltering on her limbs and webbing sticking to her hair, but she was alive. The stag turned back her and got down on its haunches, waiting for her to climb on. Bilba didn’t hesitate to cling onto its furry mane. “Th-Thank you!” She ignored the pain throbbing through her as she heaved herself up onto its back.

Once she was seated securely, the elk got to its feet deliberately slow. He leaped up the steep hill, using the rocks and tree roots as stepping stones. Thimben was still on the path ahead. He turned around, his eyes were wide and his jaw dropped from shock when he spotted them.

The elk snorted angrily at the sight of him. He lowered his head and charged forth in a mad dash. Thimben let out a cry as the elk rammed him violently with its antlers, trampling the elf beneath its hooves. It continued to run on, to where Bilba didn’t know nor did she care, only thankful to have avoided a grisly fate.

* * *

Something had unsettled the spiders, Tauriel realized.

A colony she had been tracking for the past three days seemed unusually active. Normally it would be one of two things that could rile up the spiders. One, the spawn of Shelob feared her presence. Tauriel has been destroying their hidden nests and egg sacs. Or two, and most probable, they found hapless prey to feast upon.

Tauriel picked up the pace, determined to halt their meal and if possible, slay the pest. Her forest companion had already gone ahead. The elusive white elk allowed himself to be seen by her since her arrival in the Woodland Wilderness after the battle. She managed to travel a short distance before she ran into him.

“Glossaras! There you are!” Tauriel greeted the elk as he trotted up to her. “Where have you been?” Of course the beast could not speak back, but living in solitude had loosened her tongue and now possibly her sanity.

The elk turned to the side allowing Tauriel to see a tiny hobbit clinging to his back.

Tauriel could hardly believe it as she exclaimed, “...Madam Bilba?!”

The hobbit panicked, jerked at hearing her name, only to cringe from her sudden jolt. She seemed to be in great pain. Bite marks and cuts all over her skin and the webbing still sticking to her. “Do not be afraid,” the redhead soothed her. “I am Tauriel. You remember me, do you not?”

“Yes…” she answered weakly. “What is… what is happening… and where am I?”

 “Well…” Tauriel blinked. “…I had hope you would tell me, but you are in Southern Mirkwood and it seems you have been rescued by Glossaras, Lord of the Elks. He has taken quite a shine to you for him to lend you his aid,” she remarked kindly.

“…Is that his name?” she murmured. The hobbit looked down at the fur clenched between her fingers. The elk’s silvery mane was now stained pink from the blood oozing from her ruined hands.

“Come, let me tend to your wounds at Rhosgobel. I currently board in an abandoned treehouse, but, I don’t think I have all the supplies I need to treat your wounds. However, I am sure Radagast, the Bird-tamer, does.”

“Radagast?” Bilba blurted. “The brown wizard? He lives in Mirkwood?”

Tauriel nodded. “Yes. On the southern border. If we hurry we should make it by sundown.”

“Alright… thank you.”

Tauriel made haste as she jogged through the forest. Glossaras kept up with ease as he trotted beside her. The elf-maiden had so many questions. Why was she here? And exactly what happened? But the hobbit really did seem to be a bit disorientated, so bombarding her with questions was not wise now.

But perhaps one question would not hurt. “So…” Tauriel began awkwardly. “I cannot help but wonder who of my kin did you marry?”

“M-Marry?” The hobbit sat straight as a board. “No!” she exclaimed. “I… I participated in the _Nestaóim_ with…”

Tauriel couldn’t see her expression, but if the hesitation in her voice alluded to anything, it was obvious she had touched a sensitive subject.  

“… with a certain elf,” Madam Bilba answered cryptically. “But it was a mistake!” she told her quickly. “And I won’t be going back!”

“…Then where will you go after your wounds are treated?” Tauriel asked hesitantly. She turned her head to look at the hobbit, only to regret it. Bilba appeared to be deeply conflicted by her question.

“I… I don’t know, but I will figure something out.”

“But you are carrying your _Eredhóneth’s_ children,” Tauriel tried to reason gently. “I am sure he is worried about you-”

“Wait, c-children?!” she sputtered, looking overwhelmed suddenly. “Do you mean I am carrying more than just one child?!”

Tauriel blinked, wondering how she could possibly not know. Those flaming lights within her were bright as beacons. Normally every elf-maid could sense their _Hên Nestadren_ , but then again, she was not of elven kind. “Yes, I can sense three _Fëa_ within you-“

“THREE?” Bilba shrieked into her sensitive ears.

“Y-Yes, it’s three fires within you,” Tauriel confirmed. Growing excited, she exclaimed, “I have heard of twins, but never triplets among the Eldar! You are truly blessed-”

“I’m going to strangle my _Eredhóneth!”_ the hobbit swore angrily.


	18. Abscond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beórn plays host.

It was a rare treat to have the hobbit show up unexpectedly at his doorstep. What pleased Beórn even more was that she was dwarf-less this time. What came with her instead was an elf-maid and a princely elk. “So, what are your plans once the spring thaw arrives, little bunny?”

Ignoring his question, Bilba grumbled, “I’m not a bunny.” She then proceeded to nibble like the critter on an apple fritter much to Beórn’s amusement.

“Oh, is that so? You could have fooled me!” the skinchanger laughed slapping his knee merrily. “You are tiny like a bunny! You have furry large feet like a bunny! You live in the ground like a bunny and now, apparently, you can carry a litter like a bunny-”

Bilba slammed her fist down on the table. “Alright, fine!” she snapped. “I’m a bloody rabbit!”

The merriment in the room died instantly.

“Calm yourself," Beórn rumbled out. “I mean not to upset you so.”

She exhaled wearily. “No, I’m sorry, Beórn. You’re a most generous host. I just… I’m a little stressed right now…”

Beórn sat back in his oak chair, observing Bilba carefully. Even when she was dirty and traveling on the road penniless with no supplies while being hunted by an orc pack, the hobbit was not as anxious as she was now. “Is it because of the elf who sired your children?” he asked.

Bilba’s eyes darted away, looking at the carven pillars in the room. “No and yes,” she answered cryptically.

"If “no” then why did you leave him?" Beórn questioned, his head tilting to the side. “Or is a “yes”? If so, is it because you didn’t think he would be a good mate?”

“It’s…” Bilba wrung her hands. “…it’s for the best that I left. Let’s leave it as that,” she answered with a hint of finality.

“Are you sure about that?” the elf-maid asked this time. It was good to know he was not the only one to see the skittish reluctance in the hobbit.

Bilba sighed, pulling a shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Truthfully, Tauriel, I do not know what I should do,” she admitted. “Originally, I had planned to wait here until the spring thaw for Gandalf to come and take me home, but that was before I knew of the children."

The hobbit leaned forward on the table putting her head into her hands. “I cannot go home anymore, it’s just not possible! My people may not accept my children and then my inheritance, my house, and all my money… it may be given away to Otho at this point since I have no husband!"

"Hm?" Beórn raised a bushy brow. Who was this Otho? He didn't sound very tough. Maybe he could maul him for her. 

"And then there’s…” she could not bring herself to say his name.

Bilba looked up pleadingly at the bear man. “You all must think I am a terrible person,” she muttered, glancing off to the side at Tauriel. “I know it’s not fair for me to run off with his children, not after all he’s done for me, but I just…” she shook her head. “I cannot go back.”

“Bah! Why worry?” Beórn waved off her concerns. “You have no obligations to the ElvenKing.”

The red-haired elf sat straight as a wooden plank. “L-Lord Thranduil!?” Tauriel yelped, her eyes going wide as if she did not know this information. “You are actually bearing the _king’s_ children?” she asked fearfully. 

Bilba ducked her head. “…I am," she confessed, her tiny hands going to her abdomen. There was a notable roundness to it already.

“This is what I get for living isolated in the woods!” Tauriel groaned unhappily as she rubbed her temple, no doubt feeling a migraine coming on. “Once Thranduil learns of my involvement with you, he'll kill me without fail this time!"

"What?!" Bilba shrieked with disbelief. "Why would he ever do that? You saved my life!"

The redhead let out a rueful chuckle. "As if he'll let me live long enough to tell the tale," she shook her head. "I came between the king and his son before, and now here I am whisking away his pregnant  _Cyllartha!"_

The hobbit sent her an apologetic look. "Tauriel-"

"You know what? I had entertained the thought of sailing west this spring, but now I think I will!"

Wonderful. Now he had two spooked rabbits under his roof. 

"Both of you relax," the skinchanger ordered. "These are my lands. My private property. Only those welcome may dwell here and they will not come to harm under my care!" he vowed. 

Ever shrewd, the bunny asked him, "Beórn… how did you even know Thranduil was the father?”

He gave her a toothy grin. “The birds gossip more than they sing around my birdfeeder.”

"Ughhh! Those tweeting terrors were probably spawned in the fortress of Utumno!" she grumbled.

“I also heard about the “reward” Thranduil had offered to the one who returned his family jewels. Apparently, he has fulfilled it in triple!” he laughed.

Bilba sulked at his teasing. “I don’t know how I will handle this. Just one kit is a handful and now I am to have three at once!” she beginning to fret again.

"Here, have another apple fritter," Beórn offered, presenting her the pastry basket. The hobbit sent him an unamused glare but relented and ate. Beórn tried offering a fried cake to the elf-maid as well, but she politely refused. 

“…now as I was saying, right before the elf’s panic attack,” ignoring Tauriel’s glare, he continued, “You had asked for a child after he had offered you a reward for returning gems. A reward paid in full. You have the right to take the little ones and live anywhere you desire… including here. You are welcomed to stay until death from old age.”

Bilba hesitated. “… I need time to think about this…”

“Time is not a luxury for us,” Tauriel warned, still looking rather antsy. “If the king is indeed your  _Eredhóneth_ then he will come shortly for you.”

Beórn growled. “And as I said before: I will protect all under my care. That includes _you_ , elf-maid! Little bunny, if you wish to be away from the ElvenKing then he will be prohibited from entering my land.”

The hobbit turned to him with a panicked cry, “Oh Beórn, no! I do not want to involve you in this!”

“Hohohoho!" he laughed at her naivety. "I already am! Fret not. At the very least I will care for you until the wizard comes for you.”

“But that's two months away! Oh, bother the snow! If only it didn’t block the way!” Bilba lamented. 

"Is there somewhere else you wish to stay?" Beórn asked.

"No, although you are certainly not my last choice, Beórn, you are currently my only option. I cannot return to the dwarves or to Dale. If Thranduil finds me amongst them there would be war. A bit egomaniacal for me to say this, I know, but it's undoubtingly true! If Thranduil threatened war over Araseth's gems, then what would he do for his offspring?" 

“Kill us all,” Tauriel muttered darkly. She nervously drummed her fingers on the wooden table when a sudden idea came to her. “Well, there is one more place you can seek sanctuary during the winter at least…”

“Where would that be?” Bilba asked her eagerly. 

“In the Goldenwoods. Lady Galadriel may be willing to provide sanctuary for you.”

“Lady Galadriel,” Bilba gasped. “The powerful sorceress?”

Beórn frowned. “She is not a witch despite the rumors stupid mortals spread!” he corrected her. “She is of the Eldar, one of the last elves living in middle earth who has seen the lighting of the two trees. She is older than the moon itself!”

“O-Older than the moon?” Bilba gulped, looking intimidated. “P-Perhaps I shouldn’t go. What does a great elf like her want with a lowly hobbit like me-”

“Nonsense!" Beórn rebuked her. "She will adore you. Elves love children! If she only agrees to protect the children you carry, then she will."

The bunny still did not look convinced.

"With the little ones, you need a healer to make sure everything is alright," Beórn tried to reason. "I have assisted in the births of my livestock, but a woman is entirely something else.”

“Very well…" Bilba nodded finally, her eyes set with a determined look. "I will try to seek asylum in Lothlórien.”

“I shall go with you,” Tauriel volunteered without hesitation. She stood up. “It’s a four-day journey,” she announced. “So we best be off. Master Beórn, may we have provisions?”

The skinchanger stood up as well. “You needn’t ask," he walked out of his dining room and into a nearby pantry. "I will provide everything you need. Here," he placed out several jars of dried fruits, nuts, and potatoes. "And make sure to take some of the wool blankets from the bedrooms. That will keep you warm."

The hobbit tried to assist them, but both waved her off. “No, no! Rest!”

So she seated herself by the window gazing out into the snow-covered farm. She was surprised to see the white elk outside grazing on tree bark. “He’s still here…”

The elf-maid looked up from her sack stuffing and said, “As I said before, Glossaras has taken a shine to you.”

"...why?" Bilba wondered.

"Who knows, just be grateful for his assistance!" Beórn added in his own two silver pennies. "There is a reason why the ElvenKing hasn't found you yet," he commented. 

“And that would be?"

“Because Glossaras helped with that,” Beórn told her. “He ordered the birds not to say a word of your whereabouts."

Bilba stared at him.

“Why do you give me that look? He’s the prince of the woods! The birds will obey him!”

“That is rather favorable, but that won't help us for long,” Tauriel interjected. “Eventually the King will track us down! He was known as one of the Greenwood’s best trackers when he was just a princeling."

After saying this the redhead picked up the pace. Rushing from room to room gathering supplies. All the sacks were stuffed and ready to go in a matter of minutes.  

"Tauriel...” the hobbit eyed her warily. “...it's okay. You don't need to come with me. Just stay with Beórn. He will look after you-"

"And keep her alive long enough to share her side of the story!" Beórn sniggered as the bunny rolled her eyes at him.

"No, I won't leave you," the redhead replied curtly. "Not when you are in need." Just as Bilba was about to open her mouth to protest, Tauriel stated firmly. "Yes, you are in need."

"But what about the ElvenKing?" the hobbit protested. 

"I will admit that I wish you would have disclosed this information to me sooner, but it's no longer important. You need protection, you need a healer and most of all..." she paused, looking Bilba straight in the eye, "You need a friend.”

From the teary-eyed expression on the hobbit's face, the elf's confession took her by surprise. 

Tauriel ducked her head. “…as do I," she finished quietly.

Something warm grew in Beórn's chest as he watched them. He felt increasingly secure of the bunny's safety, but in another sense, he felt the pang of loneliness. He truly wanted Bilba to stay, but that may not be what is best for her or the kits come labor. "It's only mid-morning so you still can gain a lot of ground today if you leave now."

“And if Lord Thranduil comes before we can cross a good distance?” Tauriel asked him. 

Beórn stood straighter. “If he comes,” he rumbled out. “Then I will hold him off for as long as I can.”

At hearing this, the bunny's head shot her head up in alarm. “Please don’t hurt him, Beórn!” she pleaded. 

Beórn sent her a half smile. “A little pain is good if it can humble a king,” he chuckled. "But what amuses me most is the total lack of concern you have for  _my_  safety.”

All he got in return was a nonplused look. “It’s because I  _know_  you, Beórn.”

“Is that so?" Beórn challenged. "Pity that you underestimate the ElvenKing. He can be frighteningly formidable when emotionally charged!”

"Aye, aye," Tauriel agreed almost too knowingly.  

“Fine!" Bilba huffed. "Let me rephrase that to “please don’t kill him”, Beórn!”

The skinchanger nodded, finally satisfied. “I shall do my best. Now off with you! I pray that fate will allow us to meet again, for I would very much like to see your litter!”

Bilba puffed out her cheeks, causing Beórn to crackle at her expense.

He would miss her.

* * *

 After the departure his guests, Beórn remained on high alert. The snowfall throughout January made it difficult for anyone to pass through his territory till the middle of February. It was a week before March when there was a shift on the wind. Beórn could smell the arrival of an early spring, that, and his groundhog had tipped him off.

The spring thaw was a welcoming change from the cold blankets of ice that covered the land. Flowers burst forth out of the ground and fresh spring grass sprouted up through the melting ice. Beórn decided to let his ponies roam free today. He had let them out of the stable before leaving to check up on the honey bees.  

One of the ponies came galloping back, neighing at him to prepare: a party of elves was approaching. The skinchanger left his beehives and traveled out to the front of his house. Just in time to see the cavalry riding across the plain at full speed. Beórn’s eyes narrowed. “So, you have come…” he muttered. He waited for the ElvenKing to approach him. Dipping his head with respect, he greeted, “Been many a year, King Thranduil. What do you want?”

In a formal tone, the king replied, “Master Beórn, word has reached me that a hobbit by the name of Bilbania Baggins resides within your care," His eyes not on the skinchanger, but looking longingly towards the house behind him. “I have much desire to speak with her.”

Beórn huffed. “I suspected as much. The answer is no.” In an instant, the smooth impassive features on the ElvenKing’s face contorted into an ugly scowl. “Anything else I can do for you? If not, then go away.”

“Why, yes there is…” he unsheathed his sword. “You can move aside.”

Beórn rolled his eyes at the annoying elf. "Fool!" he growled. “Have your wits left you or did you forget how dangerous I am? The little bunny would not look kindly upon me for hurting the one she loves!”

The referenced animal made the ElvenKing's lips twitch. "... you are referring to my  _Cyllartha_  as a rabbit?" the tension leaving his posture for just for a moment. If this situation was any less dire he might have laughed. 

"I bet she likes that nickname," came a sarcastic remark from one of the ElvenKing's pale haired attendants. 

The skinchanger shrugged. Turning serious, he ordered, “I will tell you this one last time: leave my property."

Lord Thranduil remained unmovable. "Not without Bilbania." Beórn transformed. The rest of the elves unsheathed their swords, ready to attack. "Stand down!” the ElvenKing halted them. “This fight belongs to me!" He then charged forward with a burst of speed. 

The elf was just as formidable as Beórn thought he would be. Although, one thing was apparent; they weren't truly trying to kill the other. This was simply a dance of submission that neither was willing to give in to. In their respective minds, too much was at stake. Thranduil suddenly broke off and leap back a distance. He squatted to the ground, his forehead perspiring profusely. Beórn wasn’t doing so well either. Normally he would have squashed or shredded his opponents by now, but the elf was too nimble and the afflictions he received were starting to weaken him.

Beórn reared back, his chest heaving for breath as he waited for the next attack, but it never came. The elf turned from pale and clammy to a sickly green in the face. His eyes bulged with horror. He abruptly planted his sword in the ground and covered his mouth, just before he began to dry heave uncontrollably. That heaving became retching.

“My Lord!” the elves ran to their king. The guards facing their weapons toward Beórn while one attended to Thranduil, trying to get the Elvenking to eat something out of his satchel.

The skinchanger watched more out of confusion than concern. It didn’t make sense. He had held back his full strength during their scuttle. So, the cause wasn’t him, and elves didn’t get violently sick like this unless it was some dark spell or… could it be that the ElvenKing was simply suffering the ill effects of the  _Gûrvestalë?_

If that was the case…

Beórn tilted his head back and roared with laughter. Thranduil glared weakly at him with a miserable expression on his face. “I did not know you two were connected in such a way! The little bunny failed to mention such!” He was treated to the sight of the ElvenKing’s ears burning crimson, making Beórn laugh even harder.

Thranduil sheepishly wiped the corner of his mouth on the back of his glove. "She may not be fully aware of it yet..." His eyes were searching. His senses on high alert as they worked in a realm not seen by mortal eyes. The skinchanger’s relief was now giving into curiosity as he wondered just how strong was the bond between his bunny and the king of the woodland elves.

A moment later he would have his answer when the ElvenKing uttered, “She is not here…” His sharp eyes focusing on the bear in front of him. “Where has she gone?”

In a way Beórn was relieved. Since Bilba had been so terrified of Thranduil finding her, he had assumed the worse, but now new questions were rising in his mind. If Thranduil wasn’t the reason why she fled, then what was it?

As a show of good faith, Beórn transformed back into his humanoid form. Rising from his hunches he said, “I will tell you, O’ ElvenKing, but first you must tell me what circumstances have caused our little bunny to flee your care in the first place.”


	19. Catharsis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba's trail leads Thranduil to Lothlórien and into Galadriel's unwanted counsel.

His guards were skittish around him, not that Thranduil blamed them,  _he_  wouldn’t want to be in his own presence right now. They were less than a day away of the borders of Lothlórien. He wanted to press forward but their beasts of burden couldn’t or in his elk’s case, wouldn’t, budge another hoof.

Thranduil ran an apologetic hand over the coat of his mount and was rewarded with a reproachful snort. It’s resentment not unfounded. This was the same elk he had ridden to the point of exhaustion to Dale after he had received word of Bilbania’s attempted assassination.

His eyes darkened. Taking out Bilbania’s locket, Thranduil slowly and methodically rotated it in-between his fingers. Oh, how he longed to have the hobbit in his grasp, not just her trinkets. Slowly from behind, he could hear Cullas approaching him, being overly cautious not to set him off.

Thranduil sighed, but again, the ElvenKing knew he had no one to blame but himself. His people were now afraid to make eye contact with him and for the first time ever, even Galion, his personal butler, vocally contemplated sailing west just to be rid of him and his foul moods.

“Your tea, my Lord,” Cullas said, offering the Elvenking an herbal blend he brewed. “I made a few adjustments so perhaps it can successfully curb your morning sickness this time.”

Thranduil took the steamy cup. “It didn’t help me while Araseth bore Legolas and it barely helps me now,” He replied ruefully.

“Hmph,” Cullas huffed. “Well, not with that attitude,” he grumbled.

There was something different in his reply. His tone lacked fire. Even in his foulest moods, Cullas would forget his station to bicker or to chide him, but not this time. Thranduil recognized this as “tongue biting.” Cullas’ playful demeanor would turn reserved towards him only when he was upset about something.

The only way to know for sure was to bait, so Thranduil remarked, “Or like the attitude you are giving me in turn while everyone else fears me?” He scrutinized his cousin’s face. Normally Cullas would chuckle, crack a grin or even joke at this point, but no. His face remained stony. “You are still angry at me...” Thranduil realized.

Cullas turned away to fiddle with his medic sack. “Somewhat,” he admitted curtly, as he mindlessly rearranged several herb stashes in his bag.  

"Is it because of Mivera?" Thranduil asked. When Cullas said nothing, the ElvenKing defended himself, “Cousin, my  _Cyllartha,_ and my children were nearly killed. I had to rule out any and all accomplices Thimben could have had.”

“That I fully understand,” Cullas replied in leveled tone. “But to toss Mivera into the dungeons? The lower dungeons at that, where they tortured her-”

“Interrogated-"

“Tortured!” Cullas snapped, growing angrier by the second. The elves surrounding them were trying hard to look their way, but they hung onto every word that passed between the healer and their king. 

Thranduil scoffed at his accusation. “You act as if my interrogators were Orcs-”

“They might as well have been!" Cullas sent Thranduil a frightful glare. "Don’t make light of the fact that you tortured her! They used methods that hasn’t been used since the second age! Your own father outlawed them for a reason, you know!”

Thranduil fell silent. What was there to say? He did undo his father’s law, but he didn’t feel the least bit sorry about it. His sights were set on Bilbania and the safety of his heirs. “I did what needed to be done. At least now she is cleared of any wrongdoing.”

“She is still under house arrest,” Cullas pointed out.

“Observation,” Thranduil corrected him.

Cullas shook his head in disgust. “You are full of elk manure!” he growled. “You were wrong, cousin, and deep down you know that as well!”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes. “So protective of her… tell me,  _cousin,_  was she the one who got away?” Cullas leveled him with his most biting glare yet. Words were not needed to convey the injustice and the betrayal in his amber eyes as they flickered like a brush fire spinning out of control. Ignoring the scorching pain, the ElvenKing tilted back his head and finished off the bitter tea in three gulps. “Don’t let your feelings cloud your judgment.”

“I would say the same of you,” Cullas retorted coolly. He collected the emptied cup. “Don't take your wrath out on your people just because your beloved ran away from you!”

That struck a chord. Thranduil's grip tightened on the locket he was holding. 

“Also,” Cullas added, before walking away. “I believe Lady Bilba will be less than pleased to find out what you did to her friend during her absence.” 

Thranduil felt his stomach roll. The tea was certainly not going to help him now.

* * *

 A day later, Thranduil found himself standing in the heart of Caras Galadhon and he could not sense a trace of Bilbania in the forest. “She is not here,” he announced wearily, not even surprised at this point. He had been living this nightmare for over two months. 

“No, she is not," Galadriel confirmed. "She has left my care weeks ago when Mithrandir came to retrieve her just as he had promised.”

Thranduil closed his eyes, gnashing his teeth in frustration. That blasted meddling wizard! The universe was mocking him, he was sure of it. Was this the agony Fëanor and his sons felt as they pursued the Silmarils only to have everyone else covet what was rightfully theirs?

The ElvenKing couldn't believe he could now identify with those psychotic kinslayers, but right now that didn't matter. The most pressing issue was... 

"Galadriel! Have your wits finally failed you?" he demanded angrily.

The Lady of Lórien raised a shocked eyebrow. It was not every day your equal comes into your throne room to ask if you are a few arrows short of a sleeve. "I beg your pardon-"

"You let Bilbania out of your care in her most vulnerable state just to go on horseback, into the wilds and across the Misty Mountains where the goblins dwell?!"

Celeborn's nostrils flared at the Elvenking's disrespectful rhetoric, but his Lady remained calm. Galadriel wordlessly reached over to squeeze the hand of her husband in a soothing gesture. Her thoughts passing into his mind. His eyes softened. "Fret not. Her journey was not a treacherous one nor was it long," Celeborn informed him. "They traveled by the assistance of the Great Eagles."

"To where?" Thranduil took another determined step forward. “Tell me where the Istar has taken her!” 

Her placid disposition was suddenly gone when Galadriel snapped, “No!” she refused him with such finality that it was like Aulë’s hammer striking the earth. “She may no longer reside within my woods...” Her ring of power glowed brightly from beneath the fabric of her sleeve. “...but she still is under my protection!”

Protect her from what? Why was everyone treating him as if he was a heinous monster, or else the assassin himself?! Just what was Bilbania telling these people to make them want to protect her from him, her own  _Eredhóneth?!_

With his patience reaching his end, Thranduil retorted, “You can bear the One Ring and still will I resist you! I made a promise to her as well!” he roared. “And I must see it through!”

The lady of light suddenly paused, her eyes becoming distant. The powers of foresight were strong in Galadriel. Perhaps the strongest in all Middle Earth. No matter how desperate he was, he would be an absolute fool to interrupt her now. So Thranduil fell silent as he reluctantly waited. 

Celeborn watched his love carefully. “What do you see?” he asked her quietly.

Her eyes looked so far away. “…I see two…” she whispered. Louder she proclaimed, “I can see Elwen and Eldírin.” Thranduil wasn’t familiar with those names. Galadriel blinked, something that elves rarely do, as her senses returned to the present.

She left her husband’s side and walked down the steps towards the Elvenking. “It seems that through Bilbania, one day, you and I shall be connected by more than just the bonds of friendship,” Galadriel grinned widely at him with that secretive smile of hers.

Thranduil visibly cringed. “By Valar, I hope not…” He murmured. 

Galadriel seemingly took no offense to his muttering. “I will tell you of Lady Bilbania's whereabouts, however, it will depend upon the matter of your answer…” she trailed, looking at Thranduil expectedly.

“Then what would you have me say?” Thranduil snapped impatiently. “For once in your existence, speak plainly!” 

“Bilbania is confused and if you were to go before her in your desperate state of mind, you will lose her forever, Thranduil Oropherion!” Galadriel warned him gravely. She walked past the frozen ElvenKing. Pausing briefly at the archway she said, “Thranduil, please follow me down to my garden. There is something there I must show you.”

Fear gripped Thranduil’s heart as he turned to follow her.

* * *

 A shallow basin, filled to the brim with water, stood before Thranduil. The innocent looking fountain silently mocked him.  

“I shall not take one step closer.”

The Mirror of Galadriel was one relic Thranduil had hoped to never look into ever again. In his youth, he had been foolish enough to do so twice. It promised him his father's life during the Last Alliance and it had even promised children that were never to be born to him and Araseth. 

"It has done nothing but lie to me again and again!"

"It does not lie. It perceives," Galadriel corrected him mildly. "Like a ripple in the water, it's ever changing and all the other smaller ripples interceding with the first has a widespread effect. My mirror shows the things that were, and things that are, and things that yet _may_ be. The choices we make every day makes the course of our futures and eventually, our fate."

Thranduil turned his back to the stone podium. "My decision is final. I will have no part of it! Come  _Dagor Dagorath_  or high water, I shall not waste another moment here!” he began to storm away.

“Thranduil, please, wait!" Galadriel called after him. "Until we speak, it is unwise to pursue!"

Thranduil halted. He let out a frustrated breath. Truthfully it would be very foolish for him to leave without knowing where Bilbania was taken this time. 

"Sit." Galadriel motioned to a patio set nearby. There waiting for them on a table was a steamy teapot with two teacups waiting to be filled. Galadriel poured him a cup and then one herself. "It shall help with the sickness." 

Reluctantly Thranduil took a seat across from her. "Doubtful," he grumbled. Cullas promised the same with his teas, but they did nothing to relieve his symptoms. It only kept him running to the outhouse.

"This blend will work wonders," she insisted, taking a sip. "I will pass on the recipe and the herbs onto your healer."

Thranduil stared down into the steamy liquid. At least it didn’t smell repulsive like the cups Cullas served him. "Is Bilbania alright?" he asked quietly.

"She struggles in some ways, mostly in the way of movement," Galadriel chuckled, knowing all too well. "Do not worry, she is healthy and so are the children. My granddaughter has made it her solemn duty to see to that."

At hearing this, the ache in his heart lessened just a bit, but a tightness remained. "Delay me, no more, I beg of you!" Thranduil pleaded wearily. "Tell me what do you have to say so I can be on my way."

“Very well," Galadriel sat down her tea cup. "I wish to bring something to your attention regarding Bilbania…" she began. "As a hobbit, she shares in the Gift of Man. That means one day her  _Hröa,_  will die.”  

Just imagining her withering away wounded Thranduil’s already inflicted heart, and to have Galadriel mention it so casually irked him. “Your point is?” he snarled.

“That’s entirely my point,” Galadriel replies mildly, seemingly without a care for his inner turmoil. “Since her soul will depart from the world, it will free you from any vows you will make, particularly a twice-pledge."

Thranduil's jaw went slack at this new information.

"This means your previous marriage to Araseth will not be violated if you were to wed her.”

The ElvenKing had never thought of it that way before. Even in death marriage vows could not be broken between the Eldar because they were bound to Arda forever. However, the _Fëa_ of men passed from Arda to the beyond. At death, Bilba would be gone from him forever and hence so would their pledge be void.  

Sensing that Thranduil was finally following her train of thought, Galadriel told him, “Take her as your wife, Thranduil. Enjoy this brief repast of joy with her and your children for there is a darkness coming and your heart must be strong enough to bear it-”

“It has already come and gone,” Thranduil rebuked her sharply.

Galadriel sent him a hard look.  _You know of what I speak,_  she rebuffed him calmly. “It is not over, Thranduil… He will return. Before the end, you and your family will play a crucial role in the fate of Middle Earth.”

Chills were going up the ElvenKing's spine. “Just what did that mirror reveal to you?” he demanded.

“Many things,” Galadriel replies simply.

Growing frustrated, Thranduil snapped, “You know of who I speak!”

Galadriel closed her eyes with a forlorn sigh. “…Bilbania’s fate is not shown.”

There was no lie in her voice. So much was left unsaid and it made Thranduil feel uneasy. Oh, how he longed to be by his  _Cyllartha’s_  side at once! Just to hold her. To feel her breath and the beating of her heartbeat. He would do anything. He would fight anyone, and he would go any distance if it meant keeping her safe.

“Do you desire a ring of power to protect her?” Galadriel asked suddenly. She held up her hand to him, revealing Nenya, the Ring of Adamant. A jeweled flower embedded in Mithril. It was forged with a deep magic and twinkled brightly as a star, rivaling the beauty of Araseth’s gem set, and it won. 

“I used to greatly long for one,” Thranduil admitted. “But no longer—I can protect her and the Greenwood by my own strength! I need not a crutch as you!” Thranduil motioned to the golden trees shimmering around them. “And dream of leaves of gold!”

The ElvenKing knew how her magic worked. It all came from Galadriel’s imagination. She used her ring not only to protect her realm but to cause the trees to remain gold in the winter and not to drop a single leaf.

Galadriel smiled sadly. “But it’s a good dream,” she remarked softly.

“One that comes to an end without the power of Nenya!” Thranduil retorted. As soon as the words left his mouth he realized how petty and childish he was being.

 _It’s not childish,_  Galadriel shook her head.  _All you speak of is true-_

“Get out of my head.”

“Without the power of Nenya, my realm would age and decay before my very eyes…” Galadriel trailed sadly. Her eyes looking up into the sparkling golden trees above. “…Thranduil… when and if the One Ring is ever destroyed, my realm will diminish and I will diminish along with it.”

“Our predecessors ruled without rings of power,” the ElvenKing tried to console her. "Realms can be restored, or perhaps even new ones can be established for our people to dwell-”

“No, Thranduil. Not for me,” Galadriel interjected firmly. “In the end, my fate is to go into The West.”

That idea seemed foreign to Thranduil. Was she truly content with laying down her earthly life and passing on into eternity? Yes, Valinor was blissful. You were away from worldly troubles, war and strife, but it was the place where all your labor and dreams came to an end. No more adventures were to be had, and lost is the ambition to rule-

“It’s not as gloomy as you imagine!” Galadriel giggled, her laughter whimsical. “Think of it as a new beginning! Just not in the sense of life as we know in Middle Earth.”

Genuinely curious, Thranduil wondered out loud, “But, is that what you truly desire?”

"…"

Her hesitation spoke volumes.

“…it’s not my first choice,” she admitted. “But there are some things that cannot be changed… your fate, however," Galadriel's face beamed like the morning star as she declared, "Is different from mine! One who ruled so long without the assistance of a magic ring will outlast all others… the line of the Ringless King shall rule unto the ending of the world.”

Thranduil was astonished. Was it his fate to be the last elven power in all of Middle Earth- 

“However, your political influence shall fade from the world of man, yet remain a mystic wonder. A legend and then later a myth. You will become King of a rustic folk. A beacon of light to all the fair things of old… a heavy burden, but not one without reward.”

_One day,_

_she will return to you._

_Until the ending of the world,_

_she will always find her way back to you._

_And you to her._

“Are you referring to Bilbania?” Thranduil asked, completely baffled. “…I thought you said you couldn’t see her fate?” 

"I didn’t," Galadriel confirmed. "At least not her present fate.”

Thranduil raised his eyebrows. Since when did any creature have more than one fate?

“She will have many fates with you, Thranduil. So many that they began to blur together in my mind when I tried to seek answers...” Galadriel shook her head. “I have never seen anything like this before,” she admitted. “Bilbania’s  _Fëa_  is special. Because of this, I believe her  _Hröa_ will age at a slower rate."

Thranduil’s heart leaped in his chest. This sounded almost too good to be true. "She will be likened onto the Dúnedain?" he asked hopefully. "Her lifespan will be increased?"

"In a sense, yes, but she will still eventually die and completely depart Arda as all Men do. Yet I was shown that her _Fëa_  would return from the world beyond the Halls of Mandos. How this will happen I do not know…” Galadriel blinked, looking perplexed as Thranduil as felt. “I am sorry. There is not much I can explain, but the prophecy is true.  Just remember one thing, Thranduil…”  _She will always find her way back to you and you to her._ “… in time, you will understand.”

The ElvenKing’s head was spinning. First from the information overload and now the flopping of his stomach returned with vengeance. Trying to push down his queasiness, he asked, "But what causes this phenomenon?" 

"Hmm…” Galadriel paused. “This is just a theory of mine, but I believe the  _Fëa_  of your children is slowly conforming the  _Fëa_  of Bilbania, giving her the characteristics of elvish _Fëa_.”

"M-My children are responsible for this?" he blurted with disbelief. 

"Indirectly, yes. No mortal was meant to carry the fire of Arda, let alone three flames at once. Their lights must have ignited something within her… the _Fëa_ of Men and Elves are similar, you know. One is simply without the flame."

"How can you be certain that this is indeed happening to her?"

Galadriel burst out laughing. “You are sharing in her morning sickness, are you not?”

Thranduil wordlessly took his first sip of the herbal tea Galadriel had offered him earlier. It was cooled by now, but at least the taste was bearable.

“If you need further proof, consider the human spouses of Lúthien and Idril," she mentioned. "As much as they loved one another, they didn't have the  _Gûrvestalë_  with their respective husbands. Up till now, the  _Gûrvestalë_  has been exclusive to the Eldar and yet, you and Bilbania managed to forge one."

“Nay, the bond is on my end alone,” Thranduil disagreed with a heavy heart. “If Bilbania could truly sense my yearning for her then why does she continue to flee my presence?" 

Galadriel reached across the table and took his hand in a supportive grip. "Do not be discouraged. From what I observed during her stay, Bilbania does sense your feelings, but she passes it off as her own anxiety," she told him sympathetically. “Go to her. It's your place as her  _Eredhóneth_ —no, as her husband—to reveal this to her. Will you, Thranduil?”

"I shall," Thranduil vowed.

Galadriel dipped her head to him. "Your answer is acceptable," Finally she confided, "Bilbania currently resides in Imladris, under the care of Elrond, but I heed you to bypass his realm and go straight to the Shire into Hobbiton.”

Thranduil squinted his eyes with suspicion. “Why?” The chances of her tricking him were low, but still, he wouldn't put it past Galadriel if it was to benefit a purpose of her’s. 

“By the time you would arrive, she will be gone to the Shire," she explained, withdrawing her hands. "It is there that you will find Bilbania.”

Well, it was pleasant to be tipped off for once. Thranduil nodded his thanks as he stood up. “I thank you for the care you have given Bilbania and your wise counsel. Farewell, Lady of Lórien. Give Lord Celeborn my regards.”

“Farewell, King Thranduil. I pray you will be reunited with your beloved.” As he turned to leave, Galadriel added with a little mischief,  _And soon you will be able to rid yourself of that little problem of yours._ The ElvenKing came to a halt, turning around to level her with a glare.  

Galadriel grinned back at him looking far too amused for her own good.

By Eru, he really did despise her at times.


	20. Saboteur IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas learns.

"He's late..." I grumbled with concern.

Life was not easy here in the Forodwaith, an Eru forsaken frozen wasteland. Men of great strength who lived here are known as the Snowmen of Forochel. They were being mercilessly slaughtered by monstrous tundra wargs called werewargs.

So the Rangers decided to volunteer their services, but not out of humanitarian concern. They knew that once these beasts finished devouring the natives, they would eventually travel south in search of more prey.

Through our conjoined efforts, we managed to slay the four major werepacks terrorizing the region. Last week's hunt was the turning point when the Rangers and the Snowmen confronted the largest and most dangerous werepack in the region, the silverbacks.

We lost some men, but the werepacks were all but extinguished. The men called it a great victory, but I think it was more along the lines of getting out by the skin of our teeth. 

A few of the werewargs escaped. That included the large, one-eyed warg with the largest double rowed fangs. Their leader. That could be dangerous. He wasn't like the other werewargs. He was more cunning, ruthless and underhanded. A direct descendant of the were-creatures Morogth created back into the first age. The Rangers were now on scouting patrols, trying to find and kill the runaways. 

On our last patrol, Estel and I had decided to part ways to cover more ground during daylight. He promised to meet back at our campsite by the evening. That was two days ago. I should have said no. It was not good for us to have split up like this. I gathered by bow and fastened my arrow sleeve. If he isn't back tonight then at dawn's first light I will go search for him- 

Just then a bundled man stumbled into the mouth of the cave. "I got the last beast!" he announced triumphantly. 

My heart was relieved. "Estel, you're late..." I began jokingly, but my words left me as soon as I beheld his ragged condition. "...and you look terrible!" I instantly regretted my choice of words. According to the tales in the halls of my home, during my childhood, I used to embarrass my father regularly with my loose lips. 

"Yes, I was aware of it, but now I am  _verily_  aware!" The young man laughed it off, finding my blunder amusing.

"Sorry," I apologized quickly. "I'm glad you came back alive."

"Apology accepted. Just remember, Legolas," he chided playfully. "We all can't be like you and come through every fight looking stunning!"

I laughed despite myself. It was becoming a running joke among the Dúnedain that I served with on how I came through the thick of battle with minor injuries and my "pretty" hair unruffled. I rolled my eyes at that. There is a reason why I keep my hair slicked back in braids after all.

"Why thank you, Estel," I replied. "The compliments you give me sings to my ears!" 

"And it swells the head between them," he huffed. Estel sat down near the fire with a grimace, gnashing his teeth in pain.

"Do you require assistance?" I asked with concerned. 

"That..." Estel involuntarily flinched as he removed what was left of his upper armor.  "...that would be appreciated."

I pulled out the supplies. "Sit here, I ordered." As I attended to his wounds, I've noticed that the punctures wounds resembled more like bite marks. "Estel, were you actually  _mauled?"_  I asked, startled.

"A little," he admitted. "And it's a good thing too, otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to get a clean cut at its jugular."  

I shook my head. "Try not to let it happen again. Becoming a creature's chew toy is not the brightest strategy..."

Estel shrugged. "It wouldn't be the first time, master elf, doubt it's the last." 

I was beginning to doubt this brazen man would live to fulfill his birthright at this rate. Still, he was brazen in a good way. I owed Estel my life and he, in turn, owed me his. He was young, just entering his prime. Most young men were boastful and hot-headed during this time, but not Estel.

He was refreshingly mature for his age with a pinch of boyish enthusiasm to him. I recalled myself being embarrassingly more impetuous and arrogant during the younger years of my life. Lord Elrond must have poured every ounce of patience and training into this man and it showed like the perfection of a fine wine. 

After dressing the last salve covered wound, I announced, "Finished. Do I have to tell you to rest for the next three days?"

"I have no choice," Estel replied. "It's either rest now or have no strength in my limbs to return to the lands of Arnor after the spring thaw."

"Why so eager to go west?" I asked.

Estel took out his pipe, beginning to stuff it with tobacco. "I originally came to the northern parts a couple of years ago for training with the Ranger units. I was just about to return home when the immediate threat of the werewolves forced my platoon to stay longer than planned. With your help, Legolas, the tundra is now cleared and I can finally return home."

He inhaled slowly, breathing in the weed and exhaled slowly with a look of contentment on his face. "But there's trouble brewing in the lands of Rohan, I hear. It's best if I gather more intel on the matter before pursuing. A quick rest in Elrond's house would do me good."

"I have never been to Rivendell..." I murmured with awe.

Este raised his head. "Truly?"

"No, when I left my father's realm for the first time, I came here to seek you," I admitted, feeling embarrassed. 

I know I should have flown the coop years ago. I was close to two thousand years of age and yet my entire world has been in my father's palace and the borders of his realm. Everything I thought I knew or believed in had been challenged. I outgrew my father's perspective. It prompted me to leave home and seek the world out through my own eyes. I didn't just leave because of Tauriel, even though my unrequited love was motivation. 

"I will gladly lend you my bow, Estel, if you have need of it," I offered. 

Estel grinned. "Then I would be glad of it!" he accepted my assistance. While grinning he confessed, "I've grown fond of your company, mellon." 

_Friend?_

I was touched and a little surprised at how quickly he would deem me worthy of his friendship. We had only known each other for 6 weeks. It has taken me two months to find him.

When I first found him, I was not impressed nor was he impressed by me, but mutual respect and now a friendship had blossomed between us. I hoped it would not be misplaced. "Then I shall," I smiled. "But first let us go to my father's realm. We can stop there briefly for supplies and rest."

Wanting to see the woodland realm for himself, Estel agreed. 

* * *

It was the middle of April by the time Estel and I arrived in my homeland and I was most pleased to find it beautiful. The forest was singing for the first time in decades. My ears perked up at the sound.

Like a conjoined chorus, every tree and flower cried out in a melody that could not be heard by the ears of men nor dwarves, but in the hearts of Eru's first children. The shadow that covered the wood in a suffocating darkness has finally been lifted.

"It's lovely," Estel commented. "Not at all dreary as the rumors say."

"Rumors can change," I replied merrily, pausing my horse briefly to brush my fingers against the leaves hanging on the low branches. I could still sense a taint left behind. The wood would never forget it's sickness. The forest was eternal much like elves were. They would endure from age to age, and they would always remember.

Suddenly my mare stiffened uneasily beneath me. I laid my hand on the base of her neck to steady her. At first, I thought it was the wood that startled her, it would frighten any animal not native to the land.

"Legolas!" Estel whispered urgently. His hands going to his blade.

That's when I finally noticed the guard above me, he blended in perfectly with the foliage. Silent and lethal, a drawn arrow inches away from my skull.

With a cocksure smirk on his face, Feren taunted me, "You would be dead-" that's when he paused, finally noticing the sneak dagger tracing the top of his left rib cage.

"I would say the same about you," I told him. I pulled my dagger away and sheathed it.

Feren tucked his arrow away. "You've improved, my Lord," he acknowledged with a bow.

I smiled towards Estel. "The Dúnedain of the North are formidable. I've learned much from them in such a short time." 

Feren grinned. "If that's the case we should have sent you to travel with them centuries ago!" he leaped to the ground. "But in all seriousness, it's good to see, my prince!" He greeted me properly by resting his hand on his right breast.

I returned his gesture and slid off my horse. Estel followed my lead and did the same. "Feren, this is my comrade, Estel," I introduced him. "A promising Ranger of the north. Estel, this is Feren. One of my father's best guardsmen."

"You flatter me, sire. Welcome, Master Estel, to the Woodland Realm!"

With a gentle tug at the reigns, my horse followed me obediently as I, Estel and Feren walked to my father's palace. "So, what events have occurred during my absence?" I asked casually.

At my question, Feren's face tensed. "W-Well, at least the Necromancer is gone!" he commented in forced cheerily tone. "With that, the spiders have lost their advantage in our realm and their numbers dwindle by the day. The sickness that festered in the shadows has also been lifted. Good things grow here again as you can see!"

Yes, I could see the difference. Instead of rows of poisonous mushrooms, I could see flower buds and instead of the ominous silence, I could hear birds chirping melodious tunes. 

"Aye, just in the days of old,” I agreed. "Maybe there is hope that our forest's previous name, the Greenwood, would come back after all. Is that all your news? You seemed glum at one point, what ails you?" 

"It's no ailment to me personally, that's for sure! It's just the circumstances surrounding it..." Feren cleared his throat. Cautiously he announced, "There are triplets to be born soon to our kingdom…"

My eyes widen. "Three at once?" I blurted.

Estel shared in my amazement. "I have never heard of the Eldar welcoming three at a time," he commented. "That's quite a blessing!"

Not that many younglings were born anymore. It was only because of the  _Nestaóim_ , did we some elfings here and there, but never three in one year! This was good news, if not the best. "That's wonderful news!" I beamed. "I'm sure the kingdom is in an uproar!"

Feren let out an exhausted huff. "You have no idea... intentional or not, Lady Bilba has us all in an uproar!"

"Bilba...?" I asked confused. Was Feren referring to the hobbit lass who had traveled with Thorin Oakenshield on his mad quest to reclaim Erebor? "You mean Bilba Baggins?" I blurted out.

"Yes," Feren answered.

My confusion only grew. "What does the hobbit have anything to do with this?" I wondered.

"What…?" Feren paused, looking at me with a puzzled expression. "Why wouldn't she be, my Lord? Lady Bilba is the one having the children after all."

I paused. "Oh, I thought there were to be three elflings to be born in my father's halls... Well, no matter. A new life is something to be celebrated regardless of race."

Feren raised an eyebrow. "Tis a half-elven to be born. Three in fact."

That caught me off guard. It was nearly unthinkable that an elf would take a fancy to a mortal, least to a tiny, child-sized hobbit lass. No offense to Madam Baggins of course. But then again, Tauriel had fallen in love with (of all things) a dwarf, so perhaps anything was possible.

"Alright, I should send my congratulations to my kin," I determined. "Who in the kingdom has married the hobbit?"

Feren had stopped walking. He turned slowly to me. Deathly serious, he asked, "You did not keep any correspondence with the King?"

I shared a baffled look with Estel, before replying, "No..."

"Not even heard the rumors? Plenty has been going around."

My temper flared at this point. "I was isolated with the Rangers in the North fighting monstrous werewargs. I did not have time to discuss what is running through the gossip mills in the southeast!" I retorted.

"Oh, for Eru's sake!" Feren groaned. He picked up the pace at once, heading for the realm's gates. "You  _really_  have no idea what has transpired during the winter?" 

"It's been only five months, Feren! What could have possibly happened?"

The elf snorted. "A lot, my Lord!" he deadpanned. " Honestly, how could His Majesty not tell you, his own son?"

"Feren, speak plainly!" I snapped finally. "What does my father have anything to do Madam Baggins or the triplets unless… unless…" I trailed when an unpleasant answer clicked within my subconscious. I froze, my eyes going wider and wider. 

Feren was looking at me again, but this time with a pang of sympathy. "I know it's a lot to take in so suddenly… however, I can tell you truthfully that your father cares very deeply for his  _Cyllartha."_

"His  _Cyllartha?!_  " I shrieked, birds scattering in fear of my outburst. "Oh, sweet Ilúvatar… my father and the hobbit! Why? Why a  _hobbit?!"_  I exclaimed. "Wait! Does that mean those three half-elves coming soon are also are also sired by my…" couldn't finish my sentence.

Feren shrugged. "He  _is_  her Eredhóneth," he confirmed.

"Feren, please tell me you are jesting!”

My guard sent me unamused look. “Would I jest about something so serious, Lord Legolas-"

"My father would never do something like this!" I rebuked childishly. "He wouldn't willingly participate in the _Nestaoism!"_  

"His Majesty did. And please, Lord Legolas, lower your voice! We near the gate-"

I could care less if the orcs in Mordor could hear me. "Why would my father do such a thing?!" I demanded.

"As a reward for returning your mother's gems," I was told. "The King had promised to reward Lady Bilba, granting up to half his kingdom if she desired... but she didn't want power or land, instead she wished for a child. His Majesty obliged."

By this time, I am sure my face was green as my vest.

"My Lord Legolas, welcome home!" The gatekeepers greeted me once we reached the gates. Good. The sooner I get in, the sooner this madness can be sorted out. I practically threw the reins of my horse at the nearest guard and rushed inside.

Never breaking my accelerated pace until I came to the throne room, but my father was not sitting in his seat. Undeterred I ran to the royal wing and threw the doors open. "Father!!" I cried. He wasn’t there either.

"My Lord, wait!” Feren came running up behind me.

"Where is my father?" I demanded. “I must speak with him at once!”

"He's…” Feren let out a frustrated wheeze. “…the King isn’t here!”

Thinking he had probably gone to Dale or LakeTown, I asked next, “Then when will he be back?”

Sounding defeated, Feren answered, "I don't know…" 

"Then where is the hobbit?!" I snarled. I was determined to get answers out of someone!

Feren suddenly appeared saddened. "After an attempt on her life, Lady Bilba fled, taking the children with her to the Shire. Your father has left the kingdom to retrieve her himself."

I was astonished to learn this. “He  _left?"_   I asked, my voice strangled. My father would never leave the Greenwood! He loved the forest and his subjects too much to depart from it, but according to Feren, my father left the kingdom to follow a measly hobbit?!

"Yes, he did."

"When?!" I roared.

Feren flinched back at my tone. "S-Since March, my Lord. The King keeps in correspondence with the council by the assistance of massager hawks, but we do not know when he will return."

I fell silent. All this crashing into me like a tidal wave.

Feren fidgeted nervously at my silence. After several moments of quiet, he inquired softly. "...what do you plan on doing?"

"..."

"My Lord, please say something!"

"... Feren..." I said finally.

Relieved he asked, "Yes my Lord?"

"Where does my father keep the Dorwinion wine?" Drinking myself into oblivion was a good enough plan for now. 

 


	21. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba returns to her homeland, but her past follows her.

“Don’t you ever do anything like this again!” chorused four angry elves.

Bilba cringed. Her dessert left forgotten. It was hard to enjoy a meal with eight eyes glaring at you from across the table. Not to mention the eyes of the other occupants in The Prancing Pony. Bilba had hoped to draw as little attention as possible, so she conceded, "Fine, you're right!” In hopes of calming them down. “I'm sorry to have worried you!”

It seemed to work. The four elves were appeased just enough to settle back into their chairs with a collective sigh.

“At least you are safe…” Tauriel breathed a sigh of relief.

Her annoyance overshadowing her guilt, Bilba retorted, “Of course, I am! I appreciate the concern, but I am a fully-grown hobbit who’s able to take care of herself, you know!” Although she was half their size, it didn’t make her any less capable!

"How did you manage to sneak past our gates in your condition?" demanded one of the sons of Elrond.

Bilba paused, wondering if he was Elrohir or Elladan. The twin sons of Elrond were so alike in voice and appearance that Bilba still couldn’t tell them apart completely, even after spending over a month in their home. But she guessed him to be Elrohir. The first-born of the twins was a bit more inquisitive than his younger brother.

“That's my secret,” Bilba replied, spooning herself another mouthful of lingonberry tart, enjoying the slightly sweet and overly sour taste on her tongue. She had been craving sour foods as of late. This local specialty found only in Bree fit the bill perfectly.

Elrohir sighed.

A week ago, some Eriadorian traders were getting ready to depart from Rivendell the following morn. Bilba had approached their leader in secret, asking to be smuggled out and driven as far as Bree. In return, she would tell them where to find some gold and other priceless treasures. They readily agreed to her proposition, not minding the smell of troll on their coin.

Not revealing this information, Bilba asked, “I think the better question is how did you find me?”

The twin leaned forward on the table with his elbows. “That's our secret,” he replied, willing to call her bluff.

Arwen rolled her gray eyes. "Oh, stop it. You followed the trail of wagon wheels!" she scoffed.

Elrohir pouted slightly at his sister for ruining his fun. He was about to respond when Arwen spoke up. “Bilba, I must ask something of you, so please, speak the truthfully.”

After all, Arwen and her family had done for her, it was the least she could do, so Bilba answered, “Alright. What is it, my Lady?”

The question, however, was not what the hobbit expected. “Were you not happy in my father’s house?” the elf-maid asked worriedly.

Bilba let out a sigh of contentment as she remembered her month long stay in Rivendell. The scenic gardens, the roaring waterfalls, the enchanted walkways, the lofty ceilings in the Hall of Fire and the extensive library. All so beautiful, so tranquil.

“I was very happy,” Bilba told her truthfully. “Your home was a place of refuge from the outside world. The very asylum I had needed. With time I had hoped it would become like a second Shire to me in time, but…” she trailed, shaking her head. “At least that’s what I tried to convince myself.”

With confusion evident on her face, the elf-maid tilted her head to the side. Her long wavy, raven locks falling over her shoulder. “Do you mean my family has not accommodated enough for you?”

“Gracious, no!" Bilba corrected her quickly. "You and your household are among the most generous folk I’ve ever met! So please do not think the fault is on your end! It’s just I am so close to home and yet I am unable to set a single toe into BagEnd!”

Arwen’s eyes softened. “Homesickness,” she realized.

“Some,” Bilba admitted. “But you know the real reason why I must go home…”

“Yes, and I understand that now, but please, we’re just trying to help, so don’t run off like that again, Lady Bilba!”

“Yes, please don’t!” the other twin spoke up. Since Elrohir sat on the right side of Tauriel, then this one had to be Elladan. “Our father was about ready to send out the Calvary until Elrohir and I volunteered to retrieve you.”

Bilba winched at being repeatedly scolded like a little child, but there was nothing to rebuff it, she deserved every reprimand. “I know! I am sorry to worry you all, but did you think I would sit contently in Lord Elrond’s house after learning that out my relatives are stealing my home right from under my nose?!”

Elladan shook his head. “You weren’t supposed to know but apparently-”

Elrohir picked on his brother’s sentence. “-hobbits have a love for eavesdropping.”

"Oh? And is it okay for elf lords to gossip about it in the middle of the night?" Bilba retorted.

“Lady Bilba, please be reassured that our Father would have taken care of it!”

Bilba shook her head. “Lord Elrond's intentions were noble, but it’s doubtful to bring about a resolution.” She went on to explain, “The heritance laws cannot be used or alter by outsiders unless they are married into the hobbit’s family to have any claim. But at this point neither do I have a claim without a husband,” she admitted sadly.

“Then why did you bother coming all this way if there is no hope for recovering your property?”

Like the breaking of a dam, something within the hobbit broke at that instant. “I know BagEnd is all but lost to me, but it’s what’s  _inside_  the smial that matters most!” she cried. “The Sackville-Bagginses have already rejected Lord Elrond’s letter stating I am not alive, but indeed dead! The auction they are hosting will continue as scheduled on the 20th of April!”

She slammed her fist on the table, rattling the silverware. “Not when there’s still breath in me will I allow those thieving Sackville Bagginses to auction off my father’s armchair or my mother’s glory box! They can take BagEnd for all I care, but I  _WILL_  reclaim those mementos!”

Three sets of gray and one set of green eyes gaped at her, along with many other colors from around the tavern hall. So much for keeping a low profile. A barmaid came by and exchanged out Bilba's empty plate with a new slice of tart. “It's on the house,” she recited before retreating. "Um... thank you," Bilba said meekly. Slowly the noise level began to pick up again as the other customers went back to their own business.

“My…” Elrohir seemed breathless.

“…how passionate,” Elladan finished his sentence.

“Your plight moves me as well,” Arwen said.

“Does this mean you will not force me to return with you to Rivendell?" Bilba asked hopefully.

"You are already here,” Elladan conceded. He was always the more lenient of the two. “You might as well see what is going on."

“However,” Elrohir’s sterner voice cut in. “When you are finished with your business in the Shire, do you swear to willingly return with us to Imladris?”

“Absolutely!” Bilba promised without hesitation.

Elrohir's face softened. “Good."

"Bilba, I know you are content with just recovering your parents’ keepsakes, but are you absolutely sure there is no other way of recovering your home?” Tauriel asked. 

“No, there isn’t at this rate,” the hobbit shook her head sadly. “Once a lass reaches the age of 50 years still without a husband, her property will be handed over to the eldest of her father’s household. But _if_ thereis anything I can do, I could arrange a meeting with my closest relatives to contest Otho and Lobelia’s claim to my house by selecting another male heir from my father’s side. At least that way I can pick who goes to live in BagEnd!”

“So you _knew_ this would happen!” Tauriel realized. "When you left to go on the quest, you knew there would be no home to return to!"

“Yes, I did,” Bilba confirmed. 

Elrohir blinked at her answer. Blinking seemed to come a little more natural to him and his siblings. Bilba wondered if it was because of the human blood in his veins. “But why?" He sounded befuddled. “Why would you do such a thing?”

"Because the dwarves had a home they _could_  return to," Bilba tried to explain. "I felt compelled to help them, even if I didn't have a home for myself to return," she confessed.

Elladan tilted his head as he observed her with a spark of approbation in his eyes. “Admirable,” he complimented. “But foolhardy.”

The weight of his words fell upon Bilba’s head as a stone. “I know, I know!” she lamented.

“Why didn’t you just marry then?” Elrohir supplied the obvious solution. “Then you would’ve had a rightful claim through your husband.”

Bilba snorted. “Marry one of those desperate, skirt-chasing gold-diggers who harassed me the closer my 50th birthday loomed? No thank you! I was annoyed out of my mind by those confounded suitors! Especially one by the name of Frengus Hornblower. That little weasel tried to slip a hand up my skirt during a courtship date!” she gritted her teeth at the memory.

“Oh my,” Arwen sympathized with her. “If that’s the case then I guess I would have jumped at the first opportunity to leave home too!”

“If it were me I would have sliced off his hand!” Tauriel hissed.

“But there is still something flawed about your logic…” Elladan spoke up. “When you left with the dwarves, even if you say it was out of good intent, it's like you didn't plan on returning to the Shire,  _ever,”_  he emphasized the last word. “Did you?”

“Well... I was going to steal from a _dragon_ , after all!” Bilba pointed out. “But I was not completely suicidal! I…” she faltered. “…I… I felt compelled to stay in the East for my own reason..” The truth was that she had fallen in love. First with Thorin Oakenshield and then later with- “Ah!” she winced at the sudden kick from her offspring. The children always seemed to react whenever she thought of their father. She paused to rub the sore spot on her overly stretched stomach.

“Are they active again?” Tauriel asked. 

“Aren’t they always?” Bilba let out an exaggerated groan of misery, causing Tauriel to giggle. “There is at least one always nudging at my organs, particularly my bladder, at all times! Not that I can blame them. I can’t provide much room anymore!”

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have much more time to go,” Elladan chuckled warmly. “It is mid-April as of now, you will be ready to deliver by June.”

Whilst she was being treated briefly at the brown wizard’s home several months ago, Radagast had informed her that she would carry at the same gestation rate as any hobbit. Six months and no more. That was quite a shock to learn since she, even Cullas, assumed her pregnancy would be longer due to their elvish blood. 

“I think I would like to rest now…” Bilba muttered feeling a bit tired and overly sore. Traveling in the back of a caravan for over a week was not the comfiest place to ride across the bumpy and uneven road to Bree.

“Of course,” Elrohir said sympathetically. “You must be tired.” He stood up. “I will go and pay for two rooms for tonight,” left to find the innkeeper.

* * *

It was a two-day journey to the Shire and Bilba's stomach was twisting into knots by the time their small party arrived at the entrance of Hobbiton around noon. Her fears manifesting right before her eyes at the sight of those green rolling hills.

Was it too late to change her mind and run back to Rivendell?

"Do not be afraid," Tauriel whispered to her soothingly. "We won't let anything happen to you," she promised.

"What you speak of are physical attacks,” Bilba told her. “But the affliction I will suffer are from words. You cannot protect me from that."

"No, we cannot," Arwen agreed. "But I hope our presence can help you endure.”

Bilba nodded to them with gratitude. “Yes, that will be enough.”

Not many hobbits were around at first, which relieved Bilba, knowing all too well the commotion she would cause once her people spotted her walking around Hobbiton in the company of elves with a swollen belly sticking out far and wide like a watermelon beneath her dress.

"B-Bilba? Bilba! Is that you?" a hobbit mother stuttered, looking at her with a dropped jaw. She had been sweeping off her front porch without a care, but that was until she noticed some strange folk passing through her neighborhood and who was with them.

Bilba let out a sigh. And so, it begins…

“Yes, Mrs. Lightfoot! It is I!”

"What... what has become of you?” the hobbit gasped, taking in everything. Including her obvious pregnancy. “I knew you shouldn't have run off with those dwarf ruffians and that brazen wizard!” she ranted.

"It was my choice, Mrs. Lightfoot-"

The sound of a large gathering further down the lane drew Bilba’s attention. "Say, Mrs. Lightfoot, what is that commotion down the road and around the bend?" Bilba asked, thinking it was a party of some sort.

“Oh, everyone with some pocket money to spare has gone to the auction being held at the BagEnd Estate today-”

“T-Today!?” Bilba stuttered. “But was it supposed to be at a later date, why now?!”

Mrs. Lightfoot shrugged. “I don’t know why, but the Sackville-Baggins announced they were pushing up auction date to today.”

Elrohir sighed. “Our father’s letter must have prompted them to hurry before Bilba could return,” he gritted out, annoyed by their underhanded tactics.

Madam Lightfoot tapped her chin. "It's the strangest thing, they said you were dead! I am glad you are not my dear, but you shouldn't be alive-"

"Nevermind their lies, I must hurry!" Bilba ignored the straining pain in her back as she hurried up the hill while clutching the underside of her belly. Tauriel and Arwen flanked her on both sides. They were telling her to slow down. She didn’t listen to them.

Bilba was out of breath and hurting about the time she marched up the rolling green hill, but the view floored her, and not in a good way. There was the auctioneer’s stand was set up at the entrance of BagEnd with a large crowd in attendance and by the second was another piece of her possessions being sold.

“NO! Stop!” she skidded down the hill desperately.

“BILBA!” the elves exclaimed.

Bilba waddled up the cobblestone road. Many hobbits passed by her in the opposite direction carrying away her furniture, her drapes and even-

“That-tha-that's my mother's glory box! How dare you!” she snatched back her mother's legacy from the startled hobbit. "Give that back!"

“I-I… B-Bilba?! You’re a-alive?!” Mr. Warley squeaked with shock.

"Very much so, thank you very much!" she retorted.

“I-I am sorry Madam Bilba! The Sackville Baggins said you were dead!” he tried explaining, but Bilba was already storming pass him.

“I will hold it,” Elladan volunteered, holding out his hands. The hobbit passed her heirloom into his arms before turning to waddle up the path to BagEnd.

At the front of her door was a large white and red sign. It read: “For sale, by auction. The effects and estate of the late Madam Bilbania Baggins, 11 o’clock sharp, April the 15th!” The date of April 20th was crossed out on the banner. Meanwhile, the Auctioneer continued to sell her Great Grandmother’s futon.

“21 copper pennies! Haha! Oh, wait did I hear 32 copper pennies? Yes? Yes! Going once, going twice! Sold!” He slammed down his mallet. “Sold to Mrs. Bolger! Somewhere for Fatty to put his feet on, haha!”

“STOP! STOP THIS AT ONCE!!” Bilba shrieked, finally catching the attention of the Auctioneer and the crowd. They turned to her and their faces turned pale from shock.

“M-Madam Bilba?” the Auctioneer asked, incredulous.

"Bilbania? Bilba Baggins is here?" the crowd murmured.

“I still want my futon!” cried Mrs. Bolger.

“But isn’t she supposed to dead?” another muttered.

“Or is it her ghost?!” a young boy cried fearfully.

“Don’t be silly, boy!” chided the child’s father. “No ghost shows face in the middle of the day!”

“Madam Bilba…?” a random hobbit lass wondered. “Is it really her?”

“Look for yourself!” another hobbit pointed in Bilba’s direction. “She’s standing next to those men!”

“Why are those men with her—wait…” a gentlehobbit paused as he squinted his eyes. “Are those actually elves?!” he gasped.

“They are?”

“Yes, look!” he pointed. “Look at those pointy ears!”

“Blimey! You’re right! They’re elves!”

“But why? What're elves doing with the likes of her! Just what is going on?”

“The real question is why is she with child?” sputtered a hobbit Madam. “Gracious! She looks about ready to plop the kit out!”

“You don’t think it’s out of wedlock, do you?” speculated her companion.

“Well, I cannot see a wedding band-”

“Madam Bilba! Bilba! is it really you? Pardon me-sorry! Argh! Let me through already! Madam Bilba!”

Bilba recognized the voice. “…Hamfast?”

An older hobbit in a straw hat finally shoves through the crowd. “Oh best me tulips, it _is_  you, Bilba! You’re alive!” He hurried towards her with his arms raised.

“Hamfast!” Bilba cried out happily as the two embraced.

“I knew it! I knew it!” the old hobbit cheered. He was first and probably the only hobbit who genuinely appeared happy to see her back in the Shire. “I was trying to stop this event all morning, but they kicked me out! I came back I did when I heard about yer ghost showing up!”

“Oh, Bless your heart!” Bilba sobbed with gratitude.

“Gracious!” Mr. Gamgee stepped back, looking Bilba up and down. “Did you finally put on some weight or do you have a kit in that belly of yours?!”

Bilba laughed. “Both!” she gave her stomach a hearty pat. “And are three in here!”

Gamgee's excitement was set to burst. “Where is your husband?” he cried happily. The smile dropped from Bilba’s face at the question. “I must congratulate the lucky fellow!”

“He’s… he’s not here…” she admitted.

The crowds once silent, began to whisper furiously among themselves. “So, it _is_ out of wedlock!” they said.

“Do you think she had an affair with one of those unruly dwarves only to crawl back home in disgrace?” another wondered.

“I guess they didn’t want to keep her and those half-breeds around!”

The elves themselves were growing visibly annoyed listening to the hurtful gossip passing between the villagers. They couldn’t wait to leave and take their hobbit with them.

Bilba’s face visibly saddened as she thought of Thranduil. Hamfast’s own face reflected her glum. “Oh, shame on him for leaving you in this predicament!”

“He didn’t leave me!” Bilba corrected him quickly. The ElvenKing wouldn’t abandon her. It was her who had forsaken him, she realized. As on cue, her children began to kick and squirm about. She slowly ran her hand up and down her stomach in hopes of comforting them. “The father isn’t here right now because-”

“Mr. Merrs!” a displeased voice shrilled at the Auctioneer. “What is going on? Why have you stop selling?” A lass in a new blue satin dress came striding up to the Auctioneer's stand like a like peacock on parade. She wore a matching hat with green feathers and had a lacy umbrella to block the sun from her delicate skin. “I need all this junk gone by tonight if I want to move in my own belongings tomorrow morning!"

Bilba was practically fuming. “Lobelia…” she growled lowly.

Lobelia turned to her without batting an eye. "Hmph!" she stuck up her nose as if she had smelt something unpleasant. “And just who are you, vagabond?” she demanded.

"V-Vagabond?" Bilba shrieked, understandably outraged. "You know bloody well who I am Lobelia Sackville-Baggins!”

“Nice try, but anyone who’s anyone knows my name! So where is your proof? I have never seen the likes of  _you!"_

“M-My proof?” Bilba was nearly taken aback by the gall. As usual, Lobelia was too high up on her donkey to notice it’s an ass.

One of the twins stepped forward. “I am Elrohir of Rivendell,” he introduced himself. “My father, Lord Elrond, has sent you a letter on the behalf of Lady Bilba, did he not?”

“Oh that, bah!" Lobelia flapped her hand uncaringly. "The poor elf lord is simply confused! My dear, sweet beloved cousin is dead. I corrected him on the matter though!”

“D-Dead!? She’s alive and breathin’ right in front of you!” Hamfast exclaimed.

Lobelia pointed the tip of her umbrella just inches away from Bilba’s face. “That’s not true, Mr. Gamgee! What you have next to you is nothing more an imposter!” she declared. “The real Bilbania Baggins is dead. Dead, you hear me? D-E-A-D! And even if she was alive, Bilbania wouldn’t dare show her face here without a wedding band and a kit in the belly!”

“Lobelia!” Bilba rubbed her temple. “Enough with these theatrics-”

“She wouldn’t allow herself to be such a disgrace to the Baggins’ name!” Lobelia shrieked loudly. Turning towards the crowd, she exclaimed. "What you see before you is nothing but a hedge-creeping charlatan-”

“Bilbania is an honorable lady of caliber!” Tauriel snapped protectively. “Do not speak ill of her!”

Lobelia blinked owlishly. Surprised by the elf-maid's retort. “O-Of course! Bilba WAS honorable. That is my entire point! But the hobbit with you is just a poser who is trying to cash in on my poor, poor dearly loved cousin's death-"

“Oh, bite your tongue!” Arwen growled out. “You speak only falsehoods for selfish gain!”

“What the elf-ladies say is all correct!” Hamfast yelled next. He pointed an accusing finger at Lobelia. “You never loved Madam Bilba or treated her as family! You just want her home!”

Lobelia’s lips drew back into a sneer. “Well, I can see you’re already becoming senile, Mr. Gamgee!”

Elladan shook his head. “It seems that Lady Bilba had a legitimate reason to be concerned for her possessions.”

“Agreed, brother,” Elrohir sighed with disgust. “Such a vile madam this Sackville-Baggins hobbit is-” He ducked the assault of a closed umbrella a second later. “She’s ill-tempered as well!”

“Lobelia, stop this at once!” Bilba demanded. “You may insult me but don’t you dare assault the lords of Rivendell!”

“They are lords?” Lobelia scoffed, eyeing their simple gray clad gear with a dismissive eye. “Lord, my shins! Unless a  _real_  lord vouches for you, poser, then I shall not believe a word of it! And no!” she pointed towards Arwen and Tauriel. “Your accomplices do not count!”

Arwen’s ear twitched. She turned looking towards the east. “Then would the word of a king suffice?” she questioned.

“Well, of course, darling!” Lobelia mocked her, before snorting, “As if a king would ride in here to-”

 **“Granted!”** a voice rung out, causing everyone to fall silent.  

A chill went down Bilba’s spine at the rich masculine voice. Their children within her womb lurched and thrashed about in excitement at the sound of their father’s voice. How could they know it was Thranduil even though they never heard him speak before?

The blow of an elvish horn sounded out, signaling the start of a royal procession.

The flag bearers were the first to appear, fully dressed in decorated bronze armor. Each one proudly bearing the crest of Eryn Las Galan. The crowd watched flabbergasted as they marched proudly from beyond the hill coming into the valley. 

The owner of the voice revealed himself a moment later. The ElvenKing came striding in on a decorated elk, looking every inch of the king he was. The hobbits cleared the way as he galloped up the cobbled path being flanked by more decorated soldiers. Thranduil was like a giant among them. Imposing in both size and presence.

His billowing robes were a beautiful silvery green. Emeralds were embroidered into silver on the sleeves, the belt and around the neckline. The crown he wore upon his head resembled vines of silver woven together. The emeralds were cut to resemble leaves. Embedded in them were delicate jeweled flowers that sparkled in the sunlight.

Tauriel visibly shuddered. It took all her willpower not to make a run for it. Bilba squeezed her hand in a supportive grip.

The ElvenKing stopped his mount before them and declared in a loud voice, “I shall vouch for the identity of Bilbania Baggins!” His wintery eyes landing squarely on Lobelia, causing the hobbit lass to cower back, holding a tight white knuckled grip on her umbrella.

“A-And just who are you?” Bilba was impressed Lobelia managed to find her tongue at all.

“I am Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Elves of Northern Mirkwood,” he then made a swooping gesture in Bilba’s direction. “And husband to Bilbania Baggins of the Shire!”

Gasps went out over the crowd. Mr. Gamgee turned to Bilba with bulging eyes. “He’s… y-your husband is a _King!?”_

Bilba felt like she was going to faint on her feet. Tauriel and Arwen must have sensed it too, they braced her arms to help hold her up. 

Thranduil dismounted from his elk and took a step forward. “Bilbania was off serving on a very important mission that dealt with the restoration of the kingdom of Erebor. A quest for filled. Her homecoming had been delayed due to my duties and our marriage.”

Tauriel went slack this time. She had to prop herself up on a nearby fence.

"So, she  _is_  married!" murmured the crowd.

"To a King of the elves at that!" a hobbit sputtered in disbelief.

"That's so amazing!” a young lass sighed wistfully. “How did she get such a handsome elf for a husband?"

But then her sister snorted enviously, "How did she convince an elf or  _any_  man for that matter?”

"Lucky, that's how!" piped up another.

"Wait… I just thought of something...” one pondered. “Since he's a king... does this make Madam Bilba a queen?"

"Oh, my Yavanna it probably does!" 

"Y-You mean we stole from royalty!!!!?"

“You mean those fibbing Sackville-Baggins stole from royalty!” a hobbit corrected. “We didn’t know any better!”

Bilba began to visibly sweat when she felt several eyes landing on her. Most of them were slightly accusing looks of betrayal from Elrond’s children. Bilba shook her head frantically at them.  _‘I don’t know what’s going on!’_  she wanted to scream.

“Your majesty! I am sorry, Bilba—I-I mean Queen Bilba!” Hamfast was beginning to grovel.

“No, Hamfast!” Bilba gripped the arm of her old friend. “Please, don’t bow to me!”

“As for the lack of wedding rings…” Thranduil continued coolly. His tone sharpening as his eyes narrowed like shards of ice on Lobelia, who had still miraculous managed to not faint. “My people don’t need such trivial things like metal on a finger to fortify their marriage.”

Once his eyes landed on Bilba, they melted, becoming doting and kind. Thranduil came before her and got down on his knees. His beautiful eyes enveloping her like the warmth of a summer’s day. “Because our love is made as one by an unbreakable oath.”

He took up her hand and kissed the back of it. That kiss sent an electric shock through her. It tingled, it tingled everything good. By the time he removed his lips from her skin, Bilba felt her heart lightened. All her fears and anxiety had melted away.

“Thranduil-”

“I am sorry, my dearest,” the ElvenKing interrupted her with an apology. “I had hoped to let you settle on your own, but I am afraid I needed to intervene.”

When he stood up, Thranduil’s eyes reverted back to being cold and menacing as he scanned the surrounding crowd. “I am most displeased on how my wife has been mistreated thus far!”

The hobbits cowered with fear. Angering anyone larger then themselves was bad enough, but to anger a foreign king with soldiers at his beck and call was hundreds of times worse. Hamfast took off his straw hat and bowed. “Forgive us, your grace, we had not known!” he intercepted for the hobbits. “The Sackville-Baggins have deceived us all!”

“Who are you?” The ElvenKing asked.

“I-I am Hamfast Gamgee, a humble gardener by trade my Lord!” Hamfast answered before begging again, “Please be merciful!”

“Thranduil!” Bilba spoke up. She tugged gently on his sleeve. “Mr. Gamgee is a loyal family friend and he was my gardener before I left with Thorin Oakenshield’s company.”

“I see…” Thranduil’s countenance softened. He dipped his head to the hobbit. “On your behalf, Hamfast Gamgee, I shall pardon the hobbits of Hobbiton.” Hamfast and the other hobbits in attendance sagged with relief. “But now to business! Who among you is in charge?” He demanded.

A portly and well-dressed hobbit was immediately shoved to the front of the crowd.  “S-S-Since the Thain isn’t here, I-I am!” He stuttered. “My n-name is Thaddaeus Diggle the Third, I am t-the Mayor of Hobbiton!”  

He stumbled forward while bowing a couple times at the waist.

“Th-This is a bit belated but welcome! Welcome to the Shire oh great King Thranduil! We weren’t aware of your special circumstance with your queen, Bilbania Baggins! However, customs are customs! As long as your darling wife shows us documented proof of her identity, we can clear this up right away!”

“I see…” Thranduil pondered thoughtfully as he tapped his chin.

The Mayor Diggle mistakenly took the ElvenKing’s silence as a bad sign. “Forgive me, but it’s protocol, your excellence!!” he fretted as he wrung his sweaty hands. "I only need to see something official with Her Majesty's name on it! That would suffice, my Lord!"

“Hm, I believe we have just the thing… Galion!” he called. “Bring me Bilbania’s chest!”

The ElvenKing’s butler brought him a wooden chest bound with iron. Inside were the possessions she had left behind in Mirkwood. Thranduil knelt to rummage through the chest. Bilba peeked over his shoulders, but she did not see her sword or her necklace in the chest. Pity that. She missed the locket Thorin had given to her and the magic ring she kept tucked inside.

“Ah, here it is!” Thranduil pulled out a folded letter, unraveling it. Bilba recognized it. It was the contract she had signed with the dwarves at the start of the quest. Thranduil handed it over to the Mayor for inspection. “A contract of employment.Is this satisfactory?”

The mayor looked close to pissing on himself as he fumbled with the parchment. Finally, he noticed her signature at the bottom of the page. “Y-Yes! Yes! Absolutely! Our mistake, haha! I am sorry we bothered you with such a trifling thing, but you can’t be too careful!”

Thranduil offered him a disarming smile in return.

Mayor Diggle turned to the crowd and announced, “Due to Bilbania’s return and her marriage to His Majesty, King Thranduil: I deem him and his wife—the beautiful and gracious queen—as the rightful owners of BagEnd and all its possessions!”

“W-What?!” Lobelia demanded in a scandalized whimper. Her dreams of finally moving into BagEnd crumbling into the dust.

Thranduil was visibly pleased by this turn of events. “Very good.” Turning his attention toward the crowd, he announced. “Since this misunderstanding is finally cleared up, it would very kind of you to return Lady Bilbania’s things,” When none of the hobbits moved, he ordered in a stern tone, “ _Now!”_

Immediately the hobbits broke out into a scurrying panic. They ran back to the front lawn of BagEnd to dump Bilba’s belongings whether they paid for it yet or not. “Sorry your majesty, we thought you were dead!” was the common apology.

“And if you are need of a refund, please consult Lobelia Sackville-Baggins,” the ElvenKing added. “She will be more than obliged to refund your money!”

Lobelia looked indignant. She was about to open her mouth when Thranduil leveled her with his most hideous glare. “It’s either that or you pay with your own severed tongue for the things you said to my wife and the sons of Elrond!” he growled at her, his hand teetering on the hilt of his sword. “For me, the latter is preferable!”

The Lass looked ready to faint now.

“That won’t be necessary!” a lanky gentlehobbit hurried forward. It was Bilba’s cousin and Lobelia’s henpecked husband, Otho Sackville-Baggins. “We will refund all the hobbits who took place in the auction! Good day, your Graces!” he pulled his wife away with great haste.

Although they were always in agreement in opinion and with schemes, Otho tended to hover behind his strong-willed wife and let her do all the talking. Unless, on a day like this one, when she bit off more than she could chew.

“B-But Otho-” Lobelia whined bitterly.

“Hush!” he whispered to her. “It’s not over yet my love, we’re going to get a lawyer! Several lawyers, in fact, the best Hobbiton has to offer!”

Thranduil glared at their retrieving backs, hearing everything they had whispered. Their scheming and thieving would never cease, Bilba feared. As she rolled her eyes, Bilba noticed that the door to BagEnd was ajar. A desire to see her long vacant home burned within her heart.

Quietly Bilba began to tiptoe towards her front gate. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Tauriel had finally lost her nerve and was trying to sneak away in the opposite direction until Thranduil called to her,  _“Tula_   _sinome,_ Tauriel!”

The redheaded elf flinched, but she obeyed, and came back to stand before the ElvenKing. “Y-Yes my Lord?”

“I wish to offer you a reward,” he drew out his sword from its sheath. 

“A-A swift merciful death…?” she wondered aloud.

Thranduil blinked before he burst out laughing. “You wound me, Tauriel! I am not that much of an ingrate! Kneel before me,” he ordered.

Tauriel let out a breath. Rather reluctantly she did. She tried not to flinch as Thranduil’s sword tapped her back. “Tauriel, daughter of Rúthlegol of the House of Ser. For your loyal service to my household by saving the lives of my _Cyllartha_ and my children, I hereby adopt the House of Ser into the Courts of Eryn Las Galan!” he declared.

“W-What?” Tauriel gasped with disbelief. “Y-You’re giving me a title?!”

“That’s correct. Now rise up." Tauriel did. "From this day forth you will be known as Tauriel Astarwë among my people.”

Rarely were any of the Silvan elves considered equal to their Sindar rulers. The only way an elf of her station could rise to the status of a Lord or Lady was by marrying into a Sindar household, or in her case, to be granted a title by the King himself.

"I...” she was practically speechless. Thinking of her past deeds, Tauriel recanted, “But Astarwë…? I do not deserve to be called ‘the faithful’, my Lord.”

“Tauriel, being the most faithful doesn’t necessarily mean the most agreeable!” the ElvenKing chuckled.

The elf-maid frowned, not really understanding what he meant, but bowed her head in gratitude. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Thranduil turned his attention to her raven head companions. “And onto you, children of Elrond, I owe you and your father much gratitude for all your care. Thank you for keeping such a good eye on Bilbania,” he dipped his head to them.

Elladan winced slightly. “You might want to refrain from that praise King Thranduil…” he trailed looking slightly embarrassed. “...I am afraid we had lost sight of her… again.”

Thranduil paused as if a stone had settled in the pit of his belly.  _“Again?”_  He glanced about worriedly, so did the children of Elrond and Tauriel, but his hobbit was nowhere to be seen. “Hobbits are light on their feet indeed!” he huffed. “Where did my _Cyllartha_ go off to  _this_  time?”

"Do not fret my Lord!" The ElvenKing's guard captain, Calemir, approached him. No grin was on his lips, but his green eyes were dancing with mirth. "The Queen has not run away, but has simply entered her home to survey the damage within.”

"Oh," Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief. A collective sigh echoed among the surrounding Eldar. 

"I recommend putting a bell on that your wife of yours," Elrohir muttered dryly. 

Thranduil felt inclined to agree.

"And you best make it four bells,” Elladan added. “If your elflings end up anything like their mother, who knows how far away they’ll crawl when you turn your head-"

"Elladan! Elrohir!!" Arwen chided them.

Thranduil’s eyes wandered longingly to the house in the hill. "Is anyone with her?”

Calemir shook his head. "To my knowledge, she is alone."  

“Good,” The ElvenKing began to ascend the mossy and weed infested path leading to the door. “Make sure it stays that way.”

"Yes, my Lord. You shall not be disturbed unless absolutely necessary." 

Thranduil ducked his head and entered the stale and dusty house, closing the door behind him. He and his _Cyllartha_ have much to discuss. 


	22. Syncretize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, Bilba is reunited with Thranduil and the elves of Mirkwood.

Dust rained down on Bilba’s head as soon she as she crossed the threshold. It irritated her throat, causing her to let out a cough. The sound of her expectoration echoed throughout the hollow smial. When she fully stepped inside, the grimy dirt on the floor coated her feet.

Bilba numbly beheld her emptied hall. All her fine rugs and furniture were gone. Only trash and discarded parchments remained, anything of value has been taken out. What was left was a crumpled handkerchief lying discarded on the floor. A fond smile came to Bilba lips when she spotted her initials engraved on it.

Using the door handle for support, Bilba squatted down slowly to retrieve her handkerchief. It was soiled and musty, but that bothered her very little as she grasped it happily in her hands.

Walking further in, Bilba passed by bare and dusty rooms. Even her chandeliers were missing from the ceiling. The kitchen had been emptied out and the cabinets flung open. Her dining room set missing, but the heavy table in her pantry was still there, unfortunately, all her jams and preservatives that the dwarves didn’t consume were gone now too.

Near the fireplace, she noticed that her father’s picture has been knocked off the wall. She placed her hand against the wall. The other underneath the girth of her stomach and squatted down slowly to scope up the frame. “Okay, 1, 2… 3!” With a grunt, Bilba managed to heave herself up, wobbling a bit unsteadily.

She brushed the dirt and dust from her father’s picture using the handkerchief and placed it back beside her mother’s frame on the wall. Right where it belonged. Bilba stood back admiring his picture. She hoped at least one of her kits favored their grandfather.

Her study was the only room furnished with a desk, too large and heavy to carry. The bookshelves laid bare. Her father’s books boxed up, ready to be either thrown out or shipped to the local library. In the middle of the floor happened to be a discharged book. The title read, ‘Neo-Sindarin: A Beginner’s Guide.’ Her mother had used this book to teach her how to read Sindarin.

Nostalgia getting the best of her, Bilba went down on to retrieve it, only to find herself incapable of rising back up. With no door or wall to help support her this time, her belly weighed her down as if it were an anchor. “Oh sweetpeas, forgive me, your mother did not think this through!”

But Bilba didn’t have to reflect long on the consequences as her children began to wriggle with excitement. A moment later she heard the approach of footsteps. “Just so you know…” she commented dryly. “I was not running away again!”

“Dearest…” suppressed laughter could be heard in his voice. “…I doubt you could run, even if you wanted to, in your current state!”

Bilba huffed, turning her head to look up at him. The first features that struck out at her were silvery blonde hair and warm brown speckles across pale flesh. “C-Cullas?” she blurted. 

Blue irises narrowed. “Do not mistake me for my kin.”

 _Touché your majesty._  Bilba frowned. “But I don’t remember you having freckles...” she muttered.

“I do, but very briefly during the summer months,” Thranduil touched his cheek in a self-conscious manner that Bilba found adorable. “…or if I have prolonged exposure to the sun due to travel.”

Bilba swallowed. “How did you find me?” she asked him.

“Your dusty footprints aren't that hard to follow-”

“No! I… I meant how did you find me so quickly in the Shire?”

“Why doubt I would find a way to you?” Thranduil evaded the question.

Bilba tried in vain to push herself up from the ground again and failed.

Thranduil rushed to her side. “Bilbania, allow me to assist you!” he lifted her effortlessly to her feet.

“…thank you…” she thanked him shyly, placing aside the book that had ensnared her on a nearby shelf.

“I see…” Thranduil’s hands remained on her waist as he lowered himself to the floor. Even on his knees, he was still a head taller than her. “Regardless of their elven blood, the gestation period is still the same for your race.”

Bilba felt sheepish as the ElvenKing’s eyes roamed all over her body. Knowing full well she was now wider than she was tall. Not including the additional weight she had gained. It showed in her face and on her well-padded hips.

“Bilbania,” he addressed her suddenly.

“…yes?”

A flash of hurt passed through Thranduil eyes when he asked her, “Why did you leave…” he trailed.  _Me._ “…the East without a word to anyone?”

Bilba felt her heart breaking for him. “Oh, Thranduil… I had wanted to return to you at the moment our children came into existence! But I guess my wits failed me after I was thrown into a spider’s den,” she admitted.

Something dark flash in Thranduil’s eyes.

“I knew someone had wanted me dead, but…” Bilba shuddered as she remembered being dangled over thousand of red eyes with their hungry pinchers clicking. “…I had trusted Master Thimben with my life, twice, and _twice_ he tried to kill me!” she exclaimed. “If he, my own guardian, could betray me then I wondered who else could have been in league with him-”

“I ran a thorough investigation, no one else was involved,” Thranduil interjected firmly. “Thimben acted on his own accord and thus he has been dealt with.”

Something did not sit well with Bilba at his words. Thranduil was not as benevolent as Lady Galadriel nor patient as Lord Celeborn, and most certainly not as forgiving as Lord Elrond. He could be cruel, impulsive and downright ruthless when prompted. Bilba lowered her eyes. “Thimben was not wrong...”

Thranduil jerked. Visibly startled by her words. “I do not understand what you mean… Are you saying you actually wished he succeeded to slay you?”

"No! I meant by his motives," Bilba explained. “Although Thimben’s deeds were indeed wicked, he wasn’t a liar! I have corrupted your bloodline with an unnatural thing… things.”

“They are as normal as they can be,” Thranduil moved his hands to rest on the top of her expansive belly. “And I heartily accept them as successors to my throne. Just as it is written in  _Nestaóim:_ they will be heirs in their father’s house. _”_

Bilba’s heart dropped a little at his words. So, it was all for the children’s sake that he came after her?

Well, at least he cared enough for his offspring to go through all this trouble, Bilba consoled herself. That was a weight off her shoulders. Once she passes away from old age in the years to come, her children will still have their father's care. “What now, Thranduil?” she asked, feeling defeated. “Will you have me return to the East with you?”

“No,” Thranduil answered promptly.

Making sure she heard him right, Bilba tested, “...no?” 

The ElvenKing shook his head. “In your condition, I would not even risk you returning to Imladris! You shall give birth here, isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Perhaps…” Bilba admitted, fully aware that her selfish desires were turning everyone’s lives into a circus. At least she had the shame to feel guilty on all accounts.

Thranduil grinned down at her. “Granted.”

Bilba blinked up at him in surprise. Why did Thranduil continue to indulge her like this? It didn't make any sense.

“It’s a wonder how you made it all the way to the Shire..." he muttered as he began to rub her mound gently. Their children squirmed under his ministrations. "Why would Elrond let you travel out his gates in your current state?”

“He didn’t. I snuck out,” Bilba admitted. A feat that surprised even her, given her condition and without the assistance of her magic ring. It was pure luck that those traders from Eriador happened to spend the night in the Hall of Fire.

Thranduil didn’t look the least bit surprised by her confession. “You do that a lot,” he deadpanned, causing her to flinch with embarrassment. “Old habits are hard to die I suppose?" 

"Ahahaha…” Bilba sheepishly brushed her hair back behind her ears. “Lord Elrond’s sons and his daughter, Arwen, came after me, but I would not be persuaded to return with them until I saw my heirlooms safe. So, they, along with Tauriel, guided me to the Shire.”

Thranduil’s hands shifted back to her hips. “Bilbania,” he said her name in a low tone. His hold tightening as he began pulling her closer to him.

“…Yes?” Bilba answered cautiously. Unsure of what he was doing with her.

Thranduil lowered his head, leaning in so close that Bilba could feel his breath on her lips. The ElvenKing paused, waiting to see if she would back away. She didn’t. “You’ve always had such beautiful eyes,” Bilba remarked without thinking. “And those long eyelashes are just darling! Why were you born so perfect-”

The ElvenKing’s lips fell upon her’s. A kiss filled with such fervency that it left Bilba completely breathless by the end of it. “Don’t you ever run away from me like that ever again!” he ordered soon as their kiss broke. “If you must run somewhere, run _to_ me!”

Bilba’s mouth gaped like a suffocating fish. Maybe. Just maybe he didn't follow her to the Shire for just for children's sakes after all. “…R-Right! I-I am sorry-” She practically melted as he began to assault her lips once more. So much passion, it was like a blazing fire passing between them, and he didn't stop there. 

Thranduil cupped her bosom. One breast in each hand of his hands and he squeezed sporadically, fleshy excess escaping between the gaps of his fingers. Bilba panted quietly at his touch. So painfully tender, yet so arousing. Pain and pleasure had never mixed so well.

Bilba meowed wantonly. The damn bastard! He probably had centuries worth of experience from his previous marriage. He changed pace, slowly becoming softer, less aggressive. Thranduil lovingly and gently caressing each breast.

“Why do you taste and smell of honeysuckle?” he murmured, his kisses trailing from her lips and onto the nape of her neck. Slowly his hands trailed down to clutch the sides of her bulbous belly. “You’re so full…” Thranduil muttered in worship. His tongue grazing her skin, his lips puckering to suckle there. “…so round, heavy and perfect,” he purred.

Coming down from her euphoria, Bilba deadpanned, “And it’s all your fault!”

“Hardly,” Thranduil droned out unapologetically. “The seed needs fertile ground in order prosper,” he tapped her middle with a smirk. “And it seems you have provided rich soil for the plow, my dearest.”

“Y-You shameless lust elf!” Bilba huffed in exasperation, but there was nothing she could say to rebuff his statement.

Thranduil chuckled at her disgruntlement. “You cannot fathom how much I’ve missed you!” he whispered into her ear before kissing her earlobe.

 _I missed you too,_ became lumped up in her throat, unable to escape. Instead, she blurted, “You shouldn’t be here!”

At her words, the atmosphere immediately shifted. Thranduil paused in mid-kiss. Bilba could feel him breathing against her neck. Lingering there for a moment of tense hesitation. She wondered what his expression was, Bilba tried to turn her head towards him, but all she saw was a curtain of platinum blond hair.

The ElvenKing quickly pecked a kiss to her shoulder and pulled back. “And where else should I be with my wife and children gone to the wilds?”

 _Why is he still referring to me as his wife?_   Bilba thought. “Thranduil, why did you lie about us being married?”

Not only had he announced this in front of her folk, but amongst the elves in attendance from Rivendell and the Woodland Realm who had accompanied him here. Such declaration he couldn’t take back without losing face.

Thranduil’s demeanor sobered. He stood up. “I know you wish not to be disgraced by your people,” he explained, looking down at her with dark and fiercely protective eyes. “They may excommunicate you for many things, but it will not be on the grounds for presumed fornication. You deserve better than a fate like that.”

“…no," Bilba couldn't meet his eyes anymore.  _I deserve something worse._

"Come," Thranduil turned her towards the smial’s exit. In a lighter tone, he insisted, “I must finish overseeing the refurbishment of your home and you should get off your feet. I will have my people pitch a pavilion in the meanwhile so you can rest. Tell me, are you hungry or thirsty?”

“Neither at the moment,” Bilba grimaced as she propped her hands behind her back. “But sitting does seem like a rather good idea!”

Thranduil frowned down at her with concern. “Do you wish for me to carry you?”

Bilba waved him off with a laugh. “I rather walk while I still can!”

They sauntered down the hall. Well, it was more like Thranduil was walking at his slowest pace while Bilba waddled with all the grace and speed of a goose. Once they were outside, Bilba could oversee all the buzzing activity still swarming at her door.

The elves have wheeled in wagons loaded with supplies they had yet to unpack as they busied themselves to retrieving furniture sold from her home. “Why did you bring all this stuff anyway?” Bilba asked Thranduil.

“A hunch.”

Bilba raised an eyebrow. “A hunch?” she asked disbelievingly.

“A hunch,” he replied with a content hum.

Bilba’s nose twitched. “You…you’re impossible!” she huffed. After a moment she finally admitted, “…I missed you too, beloved.”

The slow grin that captured Thranduil’s face never went away for the remainder of the day—“Good afternoon little queen!”—or else it would have remained in place if his cousin hadn’t decided to interrupt their reunion. Bilba turned her attention to the beaming smile of Cullas. “Cullas…?” she asked, surprised to see him.

"I should have told the guards to bar this fool..." Thranduil lamented.

"Now, now, be nice, my Lord!" Cullas chuckled. "You had her all to yourself a moment ago, so it's time to share!"

"Cullas!" 

“Yes—Oof!” She hugged him around the waist. “I’m so glad to see you!” she cried.

“And I you!” Cullas embraced her back. “My, my... just look at you!” he stepped back admiring her belly. “It seemed Eru has decided to bestow the blessing of the _Nestaóim_ upon you after all!”

“Yes…” Bilba agreed, blushing a bit. “It was well over a week since the procedure was performed, so it was quite a surprise when it happened!”

“Well, it’s not unheard of,” Cullas replied. “Take Lord Orodreth for example. He was not renowned for his leadership abilities if you know what I mean, but rather for his feat of siring Lord Gil-galad, the last High King of the Noldor, at the record of 39 days after consummating with his wife.”

Bilba went completely scarlet. “I-I wasn’t aware… and I really didn’t want to know that!”

Thranduil rolled his eyes. His cousin lacked every sense of propriety! Was it too late to disown him from the house of Elmo? He couldn’t help but wonder.

A terrifying thought suddenly came to the hobbit. What if the sperm of the Eldar was immortal? That means Thranduil’s sperm was probably still alive! Her face paled at the thought. “C-Cullas!” she cried. “Please tell me I won’t become pregnant nonstop again and again!” she had wanted children, but not _that_ many!

Cullas’ eyebrows shot up in shock at her outburst. “O-Oh, bless you!” He laughed, clasping a hand over his mouth. “I guess she doesn’t want bear any more of your orc-faced children, cousin!” he exclaimed.

“Eru, so help me, I _will_ disown you, Cullas!” The ElvenKing growled. His threat only caused Cullas to worsen to the point that he could barely keep himself standing.

Once he managed to subdue laughter, Cullas explained, “You have nothing to worry about, my Lady! Some folk says our seed doesn’t die, but it’s untrue. Although the sperm’s longevity can vary from _ellon_ to _ellon_ , it typically dies within 20 days, promise!”

“Oh…” Bilba sagged with relief against Thranduil. “…that’s good to know. I just wanted to make sure I would not turn into a kit factory, is all!”

“You won’t,” he snickered. “Unless the king cannot keep his hands off you-aha-ahem!” he cleared his throat at seeing the death glare directed his way. Cullas knew when to push the ElvenKing and when to retreat. It was folding time. “S-So! The real reason why I came before you today is to ask your permission!”

“Huh?” Bilba blinked. “Permission for what?”

Cullas placed a hand over his breast and bowed. “If you will have me, may I be your primary healer once more?”

“Is that all?” Bilba grinned. “Yes! A thousand times, yes-”

“LADY BILBA!” A slate haired child came running up the path towards her excitedly. An elf-maid hurried behind in a vain to catch him. “I said to wait, Tinuben!” she yelled. “We may not be allowed to see Her Ladyship yet!”

When she saw them approach, Bilba's countenance brightened to the radiance of the sun. “You’re both here too!?”

The king’s guards, who stood in front of the closed gate leading up to BagEnd, barred their access in one quick movement. Bilba was shocked. “Th-Thranduil! What is the meaning of this?!” she demanded. “Tell the guards to stand down!”

Thranduil didn’t respond. He looked down at her handmaiden with an indistinguishable look in his eyes. Apparently Mivera knew what it meant. She cowered, lowering her eyes. Cullas’ face went sober. He sent pitied looks at Mivera before sending a sideways glare at Thranduil, who pretended not to notice.

“Thranduil! Let them through already!” Bilba demanded angrily.

“They were not to approach you before arranging an audience at my discernment,” he growled. “That was our agreement, Mivera!”

“In-Indeed it is, my Lord!" Mivera bowed. "Forgive my impetuous son and-!”

“Oh, enough of this!” Bilba snapped, getting fed up. “Why must Mivera need an appointment to see me? She’s my handmaiden! And Tinuben is my friend!”

Mivera paused, stunned by her former mistress’s outburst. “But…but my lady! Am I not the _Cyllartha_ of the elf who had attempted to kill you?” she asked, incredulous. “Lord Thranduil has generously accepted my request to travel in his party for the sole purpose of apologizing for the wrong my house has done against you-”

“And _I_ had said, enough!” Bilba interrupted, causing Mivera flinch. She cupped the underside of her belly as she waddled down the steps carefully. “You’re my handmaiden, my confidant, and my friend!” She tried to slip past the guards, but they wouldn’t budge without the king’s consent. “And that’s how I will always hope to know you!”

Tears gathered in Mivera eyes like pearls strung out on a string. Tinuben frowned with concern at his mother. “Don’t cry, _Nana!_ See? I told you Lady Bilba wouldn't be mad at us!”

“T-These are tears of joy, my son!” Mivera sniffled, trying to wipe the tears away.

Bilba could hear Thranduil sighing from behind. “Let them pass,” came the reluctant command. The guards finally relented. The moment their spears were lowered, Tinuben bounced through and tackled Bilba with a fierce hug.

“W-Whoa!” Bilba stumbled back, losing her footing. Just she was about to fall, two hands caught her swiftly from behind. Bilba turned her head to see both Thranduil and Cullas supporting her up. They sat her back onto her feet. “G-Gracious, you're both so quick, thanks!” Cullas grinned while Thranduil grimaced.

Mivera cast a nervous glance in the ElvenKing's direction. “Tinuben! Please be careful!”

Looking ashamed, the elfling muttered, “…Sorry." 

“You were just excited to see me, right sweetpea?” Tinuben nodded. Bilba laughed as she hugged him. “I am excited to see you as well!”

Tinuben grunted as he tried in vain to reach his arms around her back. “Wow… you’ve gotten really fat!” he blurted.

“Tinuben!” Mivera facepalmed, thoroughly embarrassed by this point. “You know she is with child! Apologize right now!”

“Mivera, please, it’s okay!” Bilba chuckled. “And He’s right, I am fat, but at least it’s of the good sort!”

Tinuben gently rubbed the circumference of her stomach with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Lady Bilba..." 

"Yes, sweetpea?" she answered.

"I will protect you and your babies," he declared.

"You will?" Bilba asked him playfully. 

Tinuben frowned, looking up at her with a putout glare. "Please don't patronize me. I meant what I said!" he huffed, causing Bilba to gasp. So taken aback by the unusual seriousness the boy emanated. "Whether it's your feelings or your life, I promise to not let anyone hurt you like _he_ did!"

Bilba paled when she realized who the child spoke up, not noticing Cullas’ jaw clench or Thranduil stiffening up.

Mivera appeared deeply saddened. "Tinuben, listen, you father-"

“Don’t bother talking about him,  _Nana!"_ Tinuben snapped, he was beginning to shake from trying to hold in his long suppressed emotions. "He’s no _Ada_ of mine!” he denounced bitterly. "Not after what he did to Lady Bilba!"  

“Tinuben!” Bilba exclaimed with worry. “Don’t say such a thing! It's true, Thimben’s acts against me and my children were despicable, but that does not take away from the obvious love and affection he bestowed unto you, his own son!"

The young elfling shook his head fervently. “I will never, _never_ , _**ever**_ , let him or anyone hurt you like that again!” he sobbed, completely determined. "I promise! Believe me, please!"

Mivera watched all this with a solemn look in her eyes. Her son was so passionate and loyal...  _Just like his father,_ Bilba realized with a chilling shudder. It was terrifying to see, even with this fierce devotion directed in her favor. Bilba held onto the young elfling as tight as she could. Tears were beginning to roll down her own cheeks.  All the confusion and heartbreak this precious boy carried within him was something she could not mend. Only the power of time could do that.

But what she could do was, "I believe you, sweetpea... thank you."


	23. Encumbrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba is oblivious, Thranduil is frustrated and a dark light is shed on Mivera's descend during her Lady's absence.

“Halfling!” Thimben snarled hatefully at the hobbit in his grasp. He held her up from the ground, his hand squeezing around Bilba’s neck like a hangman’s noose as he slowly suffocated her. Why was this happening?! Bilba desperately pulled at his fingers to free herself from his constricting hold, but to no prevail.  

That’s when a strong arm reached out and grasped Thimben’s wrist. “Begone!” a young woman’s voice ordered. Thimben instantly vanished in a wisp of smoke causing Bilba to fall to the ground. She coughed, wheezing for her deprived breath.

Her rescuer knelt before her and placed a hand on the top of her head. Warmth filled Bilba from such a simple touch. “Don’t worry. He won’t be hurting you any longer,” she promised in a softer tone.

With her neck still sore, Bilba could only manage to lift her head halfway to a woman’s waist. Her curly hair fell past her middle. It glowed like the moonlight. Silver in its purest form. Bilba tilted her neck further back. She could now see her long neck and full lips.

“Bilbania,” she said, her voice sounding strangely more masculine. “-ba! Bilbania!” the voice came from somebody else. Someone familiar. “Bilbania, my dearest, answer me!”

 “…yes?” she finally answered. Bilba pried her eyes open to see Thranduil’s worried face.

The Elvenking was leaning over her. “You were having a nightmare of some sort…” he explained

Bilba stared up at the ceiling. “Oh… no need to be concerned,” she yawned, stretching out a bit, only to stop, feeling slightly queasy and her little ones were not helping either. The kicks and squirming only made her more nauseous. _They must be scared,_ Bilba realized. “Sweetpeas, everything is alright now,” she whispered. When she first had started talking to them, she rather silly for taking to a paunch, but now it was second nature to her.

“We still have a little time before dawn,” Thranduil ran his palm across the surface of her belly protectively. “Try to get some more rest, my dearest.”

“Hmm-mmm…” Bilba muttered sleepily, falling back against the pillows.

Bilba was sure it was three elf-maids now. Like a rotation, Bilba would either see one with straight golden hair, one with wavy brown hair, or like tonight, the elf-maid with curly silver hair, who would come to her rescue. She had several of these strange dreams so far.

Thranduil continued to hover over her. “Are you still troubled by your nightmare?” he fretted. 

Bilba smiled gently. “Thran, please! I’m fine!”

The ElvenKing watched her intensely a moment longer. Probably to gauge if she was telling the truth or not. He must have been appeased because Thranduil hummed softly before lying back down. He wrapped an arm around her as he nuzzled her neck as one would a lover, but Bilbania did not snuggle back into his hold.

“What?” he asked finally.

“You are taking advantage of this…” she muttered. “Do you not care how indecent this is?”

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “Oh, now you care,” he chuckled, placing a kiss on her on her earlobe.

Bliba pushed down the tingling feeling it caused and retorted, “I’m serious, Thran. I know we had a quick tumble in the hay a few days ago—not that I regret it—” she interjected quickly. “But it’s still improper!”

Thranduil stopped immediately. His body now laid stiffly against her. Bilba glanced over her shoulder to see a stony face. “Thran-”

“Please clarify what you meant by a “tumble in the hay”, Bilbania,” he demanded coolly.

“Oh, it’s fooling around…”

Thranduil continued to stare at her.

“You know…” Bilba waved her hand around imploringly. “…things like kissing with your intendant that involves some inappropriate fondling. Just like you were doing to me.”

ElvenKing sat up with a heart wrung sigh. “My show of affection towards you are not some superficial-” he stopped abruptly, his nostrils flaring like an agitated bull.

Bilba flinched. She hasn’t seen him this indignant in a while. “Thranduil-”

“And just what do you say we are, Bilbania?” Thranduil demanded. He crossed his arms, awaiting her answer.

“T-That’s simple! Before we were just friends, but now I…” she paused, feeling confused for a moment. “…actually, I'm not really sure what we are!”

Thranduil’s pale eyes betrayed him as they revealed his hurt.

“Thranduil…?” she asked worriedly. When he failed to respond, Bilbania leaned towards him. “…are we something more…?” she wondered.

* * *

Could she have asked a more obvious question? Even after all they had been through and after all he's done for her, Bilbania _still_ couldn’t sense his intentions, not even through the  _Gûrvestalë?_

Bilbania sat up. "Thran, speak to me!" she reached out her hands to him.

Thranduil closed his eyes and sighed again. Her senses were probably not intuned to the  _Gûrvestalë_ as he was, worst yet, maybe she will never sense the bond between them. At just the thought, Thranduil's heart wriggled painfully in his chest. “Does it matter, Bilbania?” he snapped irritably. “Whatever is between us is certainly consensual,” he tried to console himself more than her.  

“Th-that’s not the point!” she stuttered.

Thranduil wanted to facepalm or better yet bang his head against something hard. “Then what is the point?” Her wishy-washy arguments exasperated him greatly.

“That we are now lying together in an unwedded bed!”

Thranduil pressed a palm to his forehead to fend off an impending headache. Propriety will be the death of his sanity.

From his past experiences with Araseth and now Bilbania, Thranduil knew this conversation was heading straight into a full-fledged argument. So he opted to distract her. “I fail to see why you are upset by this," he remarked lightly as he wrapped his arms around Bilbania and pulled her close to his chest. "After all you called me to your bed first, in case you need reminding-”

“Once!” Bilba exclaimed, her cheeks reddening.

The ElvenKing raised an amused brow. “Only once, my dearest?” he challenged.

“Wait… okay, twice… just twice!” the hobbit sputtered like a frantic hen.

He laughed. “We slept in the same bed three times in total!” Thranduil’s memory recalled without fail.

"I… I… we… it wasn’t like that! I didn't want you to be alone that night you had the memory wound, alright?! It was supposed to be a one-time thing!" 

Thranduil decided to humor her. “And the second time?” 

Bilbania puffed out her cheeks like an angry chipmunk. “What can I say? I was exhausted, and you made a really good pillow!” she admitted grudgingly.

“Hmph,” Thranduil felt a swell of triumph as he grinned against her neck. "So, am I still a good pillow?"

“Ohh, you!” she grumbled. “Can you please take this more serious!"

Thranduil dropped his hold on her. “Then what must I do to appease you, dearest?”

“You can stop teasing me for one thing!”

“Never!" Thranduil laughed. The hobbit pouted at him in an adorable way. "But perhaps this would suffice…I have something to return to you.” He reached into his tunic vest and pulled out a necklace with a golden locket. “I believe this belongs to you,” he held it out to her.

"My necklace!" Bilbania exclaimed, grasping it quickly. She looked turned it over in her hands several times muttering, “Thank you, thank you!” Her hands were aching to open it, but then Bilbania glances up at him and changed her mind. A pity. Thranduil was curious what she kept inside it, but Dwarven magic prevented him from opening it.

“Hmph,” the ElvenKing pouted.

“What is it...?” Bilbania blinked at him.

“I am offended,” he sulked.

"How so?" 

“You seemed happier to be reunited with that necklace than you were to see me….”

“It was a bit more of a shock to see you, Thranduil!" Bilbania giggled. "Getting my locket back, on the other hand, was an unexpected surprise.”

“So, does that indirectly implies that I am an unpleasant surprise?” he asked.

Bilba smacked his arm without heat. “No, you silly elf!” she laughed. “You were my knight in shining armor! You swooped in to save me and Bag-End in just the knick of time! Just how did you find me?”

Bilbania had asked him this once before. Apparently, she will continue to question him until he told her truth.

“A hunch,” Thranduil replied simply.

She seemed unimpressed by his answer. “Another one of those, Thran?”

Truthfully Thranduil was scared. How much should he reveal to Bilbania right now? She still skittish as a doe ready to run at any given moment. It would be unwise to unload all the information he acquired from Galadriel. 

“You can thank Galadriel,” Thranduil answered finally. “She told me to come straight to the Shire. It’s a good thing I did.”

At the mentioning of the Lady of Lórien’s name, Bilbania’s eyes widen and then narrowed as she contemplated something.

“What is wrong?” Thranduil wondered as he brushed some stray curls from her cheek.

“It’s nothing,” Bilba replied as smiled at him.

Thranduil smiled back, but he was not letting her off easily. “Don’t lie to me,” he chided her softly.

She huffed. "Oh, you..." but then answered. “I was thinking about something Lady Galadriel has told me…” Bilbania wrinkled her nose. “Why does she always speak in riddles?”

Thranduil let out an inelegant snort. “Galadriel does as she always has. There is a reason why I only visit every other millennium… that and she is related to that Balrog spawn of a family, the house of Fëanor.” 

Bilbania glanced over at him. No doubt sensing a bitterness rising up within his being. “Behave, my Lord, she means well!” Bilba swatted him playfully, as a way of distracting him. It did not work.

“Don’t let her kind disposition fool you,” he insisted. “Kind she may be when it best suits her and goes double for Celeborn.”

His harsh words shocked Bilbania. “Why do you resent them so much?” she demanded. “They are really good folk who have treated me well in their land!”

“I know…” Thranduil deflated finally. “For that, at least, I am grateful.”

 Bilba caressed his elbow. “Thran… what is it?”

Thranduil shook his head. “It’s a mere annoyance to me…" he confessed. "Bilbania, do you know about the three elvish rings of Power?”

“Yes," she nodded. "Lady Galadriel revealed to me she carried the ring, Nenya, before I left.”

Thranduil nodded, feeling appeased at this revelation. Galadriel must have truly trusted Bilbania or be incredibly fond of her. The Lady of Lórien did not just tell anyone she kept a ring of power. “In the past, I had said I desired no ring to protect the Greenwood, but my words now falter as I behold my realm being swallowed up in darkness while theirs remain bright, light and airy!”

“Oh..." Her eyes filled with understanding. "…well, if you put it that way-”

“But I love my forest!” Thranduil gushed. “It’s a part of me, as I am of it. Long do I desire to see it's leaves green and the forest filled with good things once more!”

Bilbania appeared taken aback by how passionate he was, but then she smiled warmly. “I love it too.”

At her confession, Thranduil whipped his head back to her in surprise. Bilba intertwined her fingers with his. “It’s dark and scary at times,” she admitted, grinning up at him. “But it also is incredibly beautiful and bountiful when one knows where to look.”

The ElvenKing’s heart felt ready to burst at the rush of love he felt for her. “Spoken like a true Queen of the Greenwood!” he praised, his eyes shining like stars.

Bilbania laughed dismissively. “Araseth was a queen,” she reminded him. “I am but a _Cyllar-_ ” 

Thranduil didn't allow Bilbania to finish her statement as he lowered his lips upon her's. 

* * *

How exactly did they end up in another kissing session eluded Bilba, but apparently, Thranduil had trouble keeping his mouth and his hands to himself. “G-Gracious!" she gasped out once her lips were freed. "We will end up married b-by the standards of your people if w-we persist!” 

Thranduil wasn’t winded at all when he pulled back grinning like a drunken fool. “Would you like to be a Queen?” he offered.

Bilba rolled her eyes. “You can stop teasing me now.”

All his merriment died in an instant. “I am not teasing you, not this time.”

Bilba sent him a startled look. “Y-You aren’t?”

"No," Thranduil took her hands into his and caressed them fervently. "Bilbania, will you be my Queen?" he asked as he gazed into her eyes earnestly. 

She stared up at him unblinkingly. “Thranduil... this is going too far!” Bilbania blurted as she snatched back her hands. “You can pretend I am your wife here, but I cannot be your Queen or a ruler to your people! I am your Cyllartha and nothing more-”

There was a sudden knock at the door. The ElvenKing growled. “What!?” he snapped at whoever was at the door. It squeaked ajar with reluctance. It happened to be the seamstress and Mivera.

The elf-maids cringed back at seeing their Lord’s temper flare. “F-Forgive me for disturbing you my Lord and Lady, but I have brought the Queen her breakfast!”

“And I must attend to Lady Bilba’s dressings for the day!” the seamstress spoke up.

Thranduil sighed, but answered dutifully, “Of course.”

Turning back towards his hobbit, he said, “I leave you to Rínneth…” he paused, before reluctantly adding, “… and to Mivera.” Shooting the elven brunette with a warning glare. She gulped, clutching the food tray closer to her chest.

Without another word, Thranduil got from the bed and retreated from the bedroom. Bilba sighed. He could be such a drama king at times who did not understand his boundaries. _Their_ boundaries. He was a King of elves and she a simple hobbit. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Morning,” she greeted the two visibly startled elf maids.

“Good morning, Lady Bilba!” they both greeted her back simultaneously.

“I have your breakfast ready!” Mivera presented her a plate filled with scrambled egg, sausage, bacon with fried mushrooms, buttered toast, and half a smoked tomato.

Bilba’s mouth watered eagerly as she scooted to the edge of the bed faster than she had in months. “You have my thanks!”

“I am glad you are pleased!” Mivera beamed. “I asked the locals what kind of foods are normally eaten here. I thought some home-cooked comfort would do you some well.”

Bilba moaned happily as the spicy tang of the sausage she just bit into filled her mouth.  

The seamstress approached her next. Rínneth was an elf of the likes Bilba thought she would never see again. Her seamstress always dressed in festive colors and wore leather bindings fastened around her wrist and shoes. “I had looked through your wardrobe yesterday and those dresses you were given to wear are atrocious!” she lamented.

Bilba agreed, but beggars cannot be choosers. The dresses Bilba wore during her pregnancy were Arwen’s childhood dresses altered to fit her, but they were either too bulky or too clingy and satin was a _nightmare_. 

The seamstress pushed up a tall wooden cart from the corner of the room. “I have several outfits already planned out this week, that’s of course if it doesn’t rain, then I must substitute!” Rínneth swooped down to open the doors revealing row upon row of dresses, skirts, ribbons and other fine silks. Jewelry glittered from the hooks above. Circlets, bracelets, and necklaces of pearls and sparkling diamonds.

Bilba nearly spat out her orange juice in surprise.

“Once I knew the King would retrieve you, I immediately designed several gowns for an expectant lady of your standing!”

“This… y-you traveled with all this?!” Bilba yelped, wondering if she could even wear all those outfits before she was to give birth. “Do not waste so much on me! The children will be born by this June! July at the latest!”

The seamstress waved her concerns off with a flippant hand. “Tis fine, my lady! The king graciously accommodated me and my expenses during the journey. Many of your gowns can be recycled to fit once you regain your natural shape. All I have to do is make a few alterations!”

“Oh…” Bilba settled down and began to munch on her bacon strips.  

“As I was saying,” Rínneth continued. “My designs were made to draw attention away from that tummy of yours! So what you need are lace and chiffon! Not only do these materials not add any bulk to your frame, but it rings of elegance!”

“Alright, if you say so," Bilba agreed. "What do you have in mind for me today?”

“It is spring!” Rínneth sighed happily. “Which means you need something airy, soft colored and bright! That’s delicate…” she pinched her fingers. “…flowing…” she made a whooshing wave with her hands. “…feminine…” She batted her eyes. “…and yet regal!”

Bilba did her best to stifle her giggles. Rínneth was so passionate about her work that it was easy to get her riled up.

Mivera rolled her eyes. “Drama elf,” she muttered.

“Ahem!” Rínneth coughed at her injection. “I have decided on a nice pastel pink dress with pearls for today!” She picked out the outfit and presented it to Bilba. “Behold!”

The dress was made from silk chiffon. The top of the dress would fit off the shoulder and draped down just past her bosom, giving her a layered fluttery look.

“Gracious Valar, a _few_ alterations!?” Mivera gasped. The elf maid eyed the trail of pale pink pearls woven around the neckline. Appearing as a pearl choker with a polished star rose quartz at the base of the neck. The pearls strung downward in a looping effect down the sleeves. There was even a matching pearly headdress included.

“Yes, it is,” Rínneth ran her hand admiringly along her handiwork. “With just a personal touch. It’s like my creativity has been set free!”

“You mean the price tag is free,” Mivera retorted.

“Hmph! Such stunted vision, you have!” Rínneth stuck up her nose. “Lady Bilba is the Queen and I will have her look every inch of it!” she replied imperiously.

Bilba looked on in wonder as the two elf-maidens continued to banter. It was still hard to believe elves really were this petty even though she had spent months in their presence.

After Bilba scrapped up the last of her fried egg, Rínneth got to work braiding her hair into a long loose braid before pulling into a bun at the top of her head. Bilba admired her handiwork in her vanity mirror. “How can you make the simplest things so pretty? Thank you Rínneth!”

“My pleasure, Lady Bilba. “Hm…” she trailed thoughtfully. “I believe some pink roses would set off the outfit…” Rínneth muttered. “…if there are any to be found.”

“Oh,” Bilba perked up. “Mrs. Gamgee used to share some of the most beautiful roses with me. I will go ask her-”

“No, need my lady. That’s why I am here!” Mivera volunteered.

“Thank you, Mivera.”

The elf-maid bowed and exited the room.

“You did a kind thing, my Lady,” Rínneth mentioned suddenly once they were alone.

Bilba blinked. “And what would that be?”

“For restoring Mivera’s position,” Rínneth helped Bilba up so she could reach the wash bin. “Mivera and I have never seen eye to eye, but now I feel sorry for her and her elfling. Even after being cleared by the King’s council, they had a hard time fitting in.”

This revelation startled Bilba. “What? But why?”

“Why, ever since that whole fiasco,” Rínneth replied. “With her _Eredhóneth_ making attempts on your life! Many blame her for your absence and the king’s rampage,” she huffed. “Can’t say that’s too farfetched…”

Rínneth’s judgmental tone rubbed Bilba the wrong way. “Guilty how exactly, Rínneth?” she retorted hotly. “And what was that quip, about Thimben being her _Eredhóneth?_ Does that somehow make Mivera or Tinuben responsible for Thimben’s actions?” Bilba demanded.

Rínneth stilled. “Does my opinion displease you?” she asked quietly.

Bilba rolled her eyes at the understatement. “Well, I do appreciate your honesty if nothing else!”

The elf-maid ducked her head. “Then… do you wish for me to be dismissed?” she fretted.

“Over a mere disagreement? No! You’ve done nothing but exceptional work, and I would be a fool to dismiss you from my service!”

The seamstress visibly relaxed, until Bilba added, “However, I am disappointed,” the elf-maid flinched at her confession. “I had excepted better of you.”

“I see…” the seamstress contemplated. “I won’t disappoint you again, my Lady,” she promised her quietly. “And you’re right… it is silly to blame another for someone else’s crime.”

 _This is all my fault,_ the hobbit realized sadly. When she ran away, Bilba didn’t just run from danger or from Thranduil: she also ran from Mivera and Tinuben in their darkest hour, people who needed her. 

Rínneth helped her into her dress by the time Mivera returned ten minutes later. Appearing annoyed and it was little wonder why as Cullas followed her in. Mivera bowed her head. “Sorry that my return was delayed, my Lady, but…” she sent a side glared the pale-haired healer besides her. “…I ran into this bastard-”

“This “bastard” helped you find the house after you walked long past it!”

The hobbit lass stiffened a giggle. It seemed Thorin was not the only one with a terrible sense of direction. “Thank you for helping us, Cullas,” Bilba thanked him before an argument could break out.

“Here you are, my Lady,” Mivera presented her with the large rose bonnet.

“Oh, Bell has outdone herself!” Bilba reached over to receive the flowers. “She didn’t have to give you so many!”

“I suppose the rest can go into a vase,” Mivera suggested.

“Alright, that's a good idea.”

As Mivera pulled away, Bilba caught sight of deep puncture markings around her wrist. They seemed fully healed but they were to be permanent scars on her skin. “M-Mivera! Those marks those marks on your wrist!” she gasped. “Just what-”

“Tis nothing!” Mivera hastily pulled down her sleeve.

“But they-”

“Don’t be concerned with them, my lady!”

Rínneth lowered her eyes and Cullas watched with his eyes full of disapproval and pain.

Bilba swallowed hard. “I… I understand…” she said no more on the matter.

Once Rínneth finished weaving the roses in her headdress, she crowned Bilba’s head and stepped back admiring her handiwork. “You look radiant, my Queen,” she bowed.

“Mivera, Rínneth, you two go on ahead. There are some questions I must ask Cullas, alone.”

Mivera sent her a questionable look. “Concerning?”

Bilba silently wrapped her arms around her belly. She hated to imply a lie, but how else would they leave still oblivious? She felt even guiltier at Mivera’s worried expression.

“Oh my… do you need the king here with you?” she asked, ready to call for him.

“No, thank you!” Bilba ordered sternly. “It’s just a quick question that Thranduil will no doubt blow out of proportion!”

Mivera chuckled. “That I can understand.” She bowed and both elf-maidens departed the bedroom.

Cullas promptly approached her. “What can I do for you, my Lady?” he asked urgently.

“Cullas… you know what’s happened, right?”

The elf blinked slowly. The apprehension in his face disappearing as confusion settled in. “I am unsure of what you are referring to-”

“About Mivera,” she blurted. “Those awful marks on her wrist…” Bilba looked up at him expectantly. “How did she get them?”

Cullas frowned, his face turning pinched and stony. “I am sure it was a mere accident-”

“Oh, don’t feed me that donkey crap and call it chocolate dumplings!” Bilba snapped.

The elf’s jaw clenched. “The interrogation unit,” he answered finally.

Bilba’s stomach lurched. “Cullas… please tell me everything that has occurred during my absence!”

“Why don’t you ask Mivera yourself?” he suggested firmly.

The hobbit couldn’t understand why the healer was being so avoidant. “Mivera is too kind to tell me the truth,” Bilba replied. “She is a peacekeeper, even to the point of her own woe.”

Cullas let out a sigh. “Aye… that is true,” he agreed but said no more.

Growing frustrated, Bilba snapped, “As queen, I could order you to tell me!”

Cullas narrowed his eyes at her. “You may fool the others into thinking you and Thranduil have consummated a marriage while the King resided within the walls of Erebor, but I was there. I know what _really_ occurred between the two of you.”

Bilba reeled back at his harsh words.

The healer’s composure softened. “I wouldn’t tell, I happen to favor you too much for such betrayal," he sighed. "However, you must know this subject is hard on me.”

“Then I’m asking you as a friend,” Bilba rephrased her words from earlier. “So please speak the truth.” She laid her hand on his lower arm. “Was it by the king’s order that this was done to her?”

“Yes.”


	24. Engagement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilba confronts Thranduil and Lobelia makes her final stand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the warm reception after such a long absence. It's good to know readers would like to see this story to completion. I am grateful for your support, encouragement and thought-provoking comments.

Thranduil strolled aimlessly down the halls of BagEnd, ducking his head at the right intervals when he passed under a support beam. Things almost appeared back to normal with antique furniture and heirlooms set out on every corner. He made sure every piece of Bilbania's possessions was returned down to the last handkerchief. Thranduil had expected Bilbania to be pleased by her fully refurbished home, but she paid it no mind.

“Thran, may I have a word with you?” There was no room for disagreement in her tone as he followed her to her late father’s study. His Cyllartha was angry about something. Not that he cared for the moment what was it, she looked so beautiful. Hands on her well-padded hips and pearls dangling down her sides like a veil-

She raised an unamused eyebrow at him. "Ahem."

He blinked slowly. Oh yes, she was mad at him, Thranduil remembered. “Yes…?”

Pointing an accusing finger at him, Bilbania declared, "What have you done!"

Thranduil had lived a very long life and has done a number of things. Some things that would cause him to hang his head him in shame, beam with pride or at least in private, snicker. "You are going to have to be a little more specific my dearest."

Her eyes narrowed. Perhaps that was not the wisest thing he could have said...

Bilbania clenched her fist so hard that it began to shake.

Thranduil frowned. This could not be good for her or the children-

"You tortured my handmaiden!" she snarled. 

It's hang his head in shame then.

“That is in the past, Bilbania,” Thranduil sighed as he turned away, tucking his hands behind his back. “I did what was needed to be done. I am not ashamed of my actions," he replied.

"I don't care how long past this is, and I don’t care if you are unapologetic!” Bilbania retorted. “You  _will_  apologize to Mivera and denounce your crimes and it will be in public!"

“If that is what you desire, so it shall be,” he yielded to her whim with no resistance. Bilbania then paused, her anger siphoning out and a less desirable emotion took its place: fear. “What is it?”

“Why are you acting so aloof about this?” she demanded. “Don’t you have any idea what Mivera and her son suffered even after you cleared their names?!”

"I am sorry that Mivera happened to be Thimben's closest contact, but for you, I would have done it all over again.”

She took a step back. "P-Please don't say that!” Bilbania shuddered. “That's revolting!"

Her words stung, but Thranduil replies, "It's true."

Bilbania burst out crying. "It's all because of me Mivera was tortured!” Thranduil visibly flinched. "What you did to her was absolutely barbaric!" Her tiny fist beating on his chest. "How could you have ordered such a thing!?"

His grieving eyes mirrored hers. "I was afraid to lose you," Thranduil admitted. “And if she was an accomplice then I vowed to gain any information by any means necessary if it meant having you back safely in my arms.”

His confession caught her off guard. Bilba blinked. "I... I don't understand..." she whispered. "... _how?_  How can a great King of the woodland elves who survived the destruction of Doriath, a dragon ambush, and several wars be afraid for  _me,_  a measly hobbit from the Shire?"

Thranduil frowned, shaking his head in disapproval. "Stop that, Bilbania."

She blinked up at him. "...stop what?"

"Stop doubting yourself and your self-worth. You are worth more than kings and the land which they rule. I would surrender Araseth's Legacy to the line of Durin forever if it meant keeping you by my side."

"I..." Bilbania trailed, for once rendered speechless. 

"That's how precious you are to me, Bilbania," Thranduil confessed. "I had come to realize too late that you are likened onto a skittish doe. I cannot keep you unless you chose to stay," His eyes were pleading. "Stop running, Bilbania... please."

It was their fate to be together. She needed to accept him, _he_ needed her to accept him.

Bilbania took a tentative step towards him. "Then promise me you will never hurt another being for my sake Thranduil, please... this is not who you are… you are a good elf, a noble king and by beloved _Eredhóneth._ "

“I promise," he bowed his head.

The hobbit exhaled, looking relieved at his compliance. “And you’re still publicly apologizing to Mivera?” she reminded him.

“I haven’t forgotten-”

There was a knock at the door. Perhaps it was their destiny to be indefinitely interrupted.

* * *

There was an ugly sneer on Thranduil’s lip as he yanked the door open. "What?" he barked.

Galion cringed at acquiring his king’s irk. Bilba winched as well, his temper was fearful to watch even if it was never directed at her. She will have to work on that. His loyal servants did not deserve to weather his foul temperament.

He bowed. “F-Forgive me for disturbing you my Lord and Lady, but Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is here on our doorstep! She refuses to leave unless you and Lady Bilba grant her an audience.”

Without hesitation, Thranduil snipped, “Denied. Have the guards cast the impudent woman and her lot off my property.”

“Thranduil, Bilba sent him an exasperated look. "This is Hobbiton, not the Woodland Realm. Let us go see what she has to say  _then_ you can throw her out.”

“…very well,” Thranduil agreed with a very sullen pout. He took her by the hand and led her out.

Bilba carefully waddled down the moss-covered steps with Thranduil assisting her. He glided down with grace befitting a king as they descended together in a fashion like the Lord and Lady of Lórien. Bilba tried to mimic him, but it only caused the ElvenKing to slow down to compensate for her clumsiness. She was all too happy to finally reach the front gate, or else not, seeing the sneer on Lobelia’s face up close and personal.

A sizable crowd of hobbits gathered around in a semi-circle to watch the confrontation about to take place. Standing apart from the mass and right behind Lobelia were some well-dressed gentlehobbits. They took off their top hats and gave the royal couple a shaky bow. Bilba recognized them as the respective heads of the law firm 'Grubb, Grubb, and Burrows.'  

“Lawyers…?" she gasped. The lawmen visibly gulped, obviously regretting their choice in representing Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. "Just what is going on?”

Thranduil hovered beside her like an imposing force. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Bilba sent him a sideways glance. “Behave,” she whispered.

“Hmph,” Thranduil grunted. _‘Do not hold me responsible if she starts waving around that damnable umbrella of her’s.’_

Bilba barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. “This is the only time I won’t.”

Thranduil blinked down at her looking startled for a moment.

The hobbit lass raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Bilbania… did you just-”

“My Lord and Lady of a kingdom far, far away!” Lobelia greeted them with a mock curtsy. “How gracious of you to allow me into your presence this morning!”

This time Bilba rolled her eyes without restraint. "What now, Lobelia?" she deadpanned.  

Lobelia tilted her head up in a vain attempt to stare down her nose at them. “I have come to contest your claim upon this smial,” Lobelia announced boldly. “By all account it rightfully belongs to my husband, Otho Sackville-Baggins!”

“Honestly Lobelia!” Bilba huffed, stomping her foot. “You have no shame!”

Lobelia appeared unperturbed. Instead, she simply inquired, “You say you are married, correct?” 

Bilba sent her a guarded look. “...yes, we are.”

“In holy matrimony?” she specified this time. 

“Yes, Lobelia!” Bilba snapped, completely exasperated with the hobbit lass. “What are you getting at? How many times do you have to ask?!”

Lobelia leaned forward on her umbrella with a cunning smirk. “Then prove it.”

A long silence passed between them as Bilba sent her an incredulous look. Wearied, she facepalmed with a sigh, “Not this nonsense again!”

“It’s not nonsense!" Lobelia insisted. "I am only asking for the truth, so tell it!”  

“I have announced our marriage several times! Is not our word proof enough?” Thranduil demanded, his ire growing by the second. 

“Not according to the law, your highness,” Lobelia replied in a mockingly sweet tone. She thumped a lawyer on the heel with her umbrella.

Mr. Burrows sent her an affronted glare but proceeded to read from a scroll in his hand, “Inheritance Law 21. Article 7. Extension D states… if the maiden remains unwedded by her 50th birthday, the eldest male inheritance of her father’s family can lay claim and become her legal guardian. The only exemption is that a wedding license must be submitted to the Courthouse records by her 50th birthday.”

Bilba gasped, her face turning steadily white. 

“And when was your birthday, Bilba?” Lobelia hummed happily. 

Thranduil glanced down at her, awaiting her answer as well.

“L-Last September…” Bilba whispered hollowly, feeling completely mortified.

Lobelia’s catty grin grew hideously wider at the rattled response. “So once again I will ask is where is the wedding certificate?” When Bilba gave no answer, Lobelia gave her a careless shrug. “I’m not that picky, dear, really, I am not.”

Bilba's chest heaved as she choked back a sob. It was now the end of April, well past her birthday. She couldn’t believe it… despite all her efforts and Thranduil’s intervention, she could still end up losing BagEnd to this impudent wench and her scoundrel of a husband!

“Oh dear, don't tell me you have no proof of your union?” Lobelia's tone full of false concern and mockery. “There must be  _some_  record you can pull from  _somewhere_  to prove you are legally bound to the ElvenKing? Surely a  _King_ would record such an event?” Her snide was not lost on anyone in attendance.

Like pressure mounting in the belly of an active volcano, Thranduil's presence radiated to life. “I have told you before, the ways of my people are not the same as yours,” he growled. “We do not bind our vows with contracts and paper, but our vows are to one another whether in private or in public it is sufficient!”

“Bah! it doesn’t matter if you used pixie dust!” Lobelia sneered. “If it’s not in ink and stamped your vow is empty here in the Shire your majesty!" She sent him a condescending glance. "That’s if you really are a King... you can be charlatan showboat for all I know!”

Turning to the hobbits, Lobelia asked loudly, “How do we know he really is a King? I certainly haven’t heard of a King of Elves so far west!” 

The ElvenKing’s face twitched slightly at her insolence. Not since Thorin Oakenshield has Thranduil been so thoroughly insulted to his face. Bilba could sense the Woodland elves fester with fury at the blatant disrespect for their king.

“Stop this at once, Lobelia!" Bilba snapped protectively. "Don’t you dare insult my Lord and husband!”

“Then why draw this out even longer and embarrass yourself?” Lobelia retorted. “Let’s settle this out of court and save me some legal fees and go back to your imaginary castle!” Lobelia pointed the tip of her umbrella at Bilba only to have the tips of swords and arrow spears now inches from her own face. Lobelia stumbled back with a startled scream.

“Halt!” Bilba commanded, holding up at hand. “There will be no bloodshed here!” To her relief, the elves obeyed her and sheathed their weapons.

Like a ruffled hen, Lobelia puffed herself up. “W-Well I never!” she sputtered in fury. “I had it with you hooligan squatters! All of you are to be out by sunset-”

“Oh, enough of this!" someone exclaimed from the crowd. "Aunt Bilba, here is a grace period!” 

Lobelia whirled around and demanded, “W-Who said that!?”

A young gentlehobbit struggled to push himself to the front of the crowd. “I said… there’s a grace period!” he panted. 

Bilba recognized him. “Drogo…?” Could it really be her baby cousin?

“Hey… Auntie… Bilba!” he wheezed. Drogo was baby-faced with dark comely curls. His portly frame indicated he was not one for passing up seconds at dinner, but he was nowhere near as rotund as Fatty Bolger. Once he caught his breath, Drogo announced, “…there’s an amendment that was added to the Inheritance Law in 2921! After the case of Iris Proudfoot Vs. Eddie Willowbottom! It was ruled that-”

“H-How dare you! You’re Otho’s family member so you should be on my side!” Lobelia shrieked at him with outrage.

Drogo cringed. “But Aunt Lobelia!” he pleaded. “How can you sleep at night knowing you're about to kick a pregnant madam and her husband out of her own father’s house-”

“I CARE NOT! I DON’T YOU DARE INTERFERE IN MY AFFAIRS!” Alit with rage, Lobelia swung her umbrella at him. Thranduil unsheathed his sword and sliced the umbrella in half before it could land a single hit on the gentlehobbit. Lobelia pulled back the stump of her umbrella almost in a daze.

Thranduil calmly sheathed his sword. “You are hereby hired to represent Bilbania Baggins, Master Drogo.” 

Drogo blinked wide-eyed at how quickly things were escalating. “Y-Yes… thank you, your majesty," he bowed. "But I am but a humble paralegal and I will not charge you for my services," he glared over at Lobelia as he stated, “Because we're _all_ family!” 

Thranduil motioned for him to continue. “What were you saying about the amendment?”

“Oh, yes! What I spoke of was the grace period given in The 42 Amendments. Article 4. Extension B states that a seven-month grace period will be given to file a marriage license, from the birthdate of unmarried Hobbit lass!”

Lobelia blinked. "Seven months...? ... ... Hahahaha!" she broke out into a crazy laugh. “Then it’s too late!” she shrieked desperately. “It’s too late! There’s nothing she can do!”

Drogo looked smug. “Actually, there  _is_  still time!” He turned back to Bilba asked, “Aunt Bilba, what is the date of your birth?”

“September 22, 2890…” Bilba answered.

Thranduil’s thunderous countenance instantly brightened as he remarked, “Five days!”

“...What?”

“Bilbania, today is April 17,” Thranduil explained patiently. “We have five days to file the acceptable documents.”

“Precisely!” Drogo nodded excitedly. “Well, technically we have four full days and a half left!”

“W-What?!” Lobelia gasped. She turned wildly to her remaining lawyers. “Can we do anything?! Why wasn’t I told about an extension?! WHY AM I EVEN PAYING YOU BUFFOONS?”

They retreated holding up their hands in a weak attempt to shield themselves from her wrath.

Bilba waddled forward and flung her arms around him. “Oh Drogo, you are my hero!” she kissed his cheek.

“Ah sucks," he blushed. "Your welcome, Auntie!”

She pulled back. “Just how did you know about these amendments?”

Drogo puffed out his chest proudly. “I have just finished my schooling at Hobbiton University’s school of Law and I will be taking the city’s bar examination next month. I have spent the last three weeks in the library reading any past cases and every article to help prepare!” he chuckled, patting his flabby cheeks. “I’ve missed a few suppers here and there. At this point I will but waste away!”

“Um…” Bilba thought he still looked rather portly. “…yes…” she fibbed with a shaky smile. “…your face is so slenderer,” she winked playfully at him. “You’re bound to catch the eye of Primula now, no doubt-”

“AUNTIE!” Drogo yelped, scandalized. “Shhh! Not so loud!”

“But we have a new problem, my Lord…” Cullas whispered into Thranduil’s ear. “How are we supposed to get the proof—that’s if there is any—and have it submitted in a matter of 5 days when it takes well over a week for a messenger bird to cross the Lonely Mountain and that's not counting the return flight?”

The ElvenKing stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Unless we were to be married… again,here in Hobbiton?” he looked to his newly acquired legal advisor for confirmation.

“Yesiree!” Drogo nodded. “That would do it!” he was practically beaming.

Thranduil returned it with a smile of his own.

“M-M-Marry… _marry?!”_ Bilba asked incredulously. “Thranduil! We c-”

“We have already done so, my dearest!” The ElvenKing turned to her with a meaningful look in his eyes. “So why not twice for good luck and for your parent's home?”

“Because…” she averted her eyes with a sigh. “…it’s not that simple!”

“But it is,” he got down on one knee and gently cupped her cheek. “When one is in love.”

Is that what is between them? There was a queer attraction between them, that Bilba knew, and there was also a sense of duty towards their  _Hên Nestadren_ , but love?

As if he was reading her thoughts, Thranduil leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Let’s get married by the standards of your people. _Le melin_ , Bilbania Baggins,” he murmured into her curly locks.

Bilba blinked, confused by his words. “Y-You do, truly?" Bilba gulped, barely able to suppress her welled up emotions. She was going to burst the dams at any moment.

“Yes,” Thranduil laughed breathlessly. Looking happier than Bilba had ever seen him. He stood up to face the crowd. “Listen, hobbits of the Shire! In four days times, I, King Thranduil and my Queen, Bilbania Baggins, will be hosting a vow renewal ceremony!” He held out his hands. “The entire Shire is invited to attend!"

Free food and ale at an elaborate party. All the hobbits were ecstatic except for two lasses. Lobelia’s shrieks of outrage were lost in a flood of jubilant cheers and excited chatter while Bilba stared up at her _Eredhóneth_ in disbelief. Wondering how he managed to turn her darkest hour to his own advantage.

"Thranduil..." She sent him a furious glare.  _‘We are going to have another talk, mister!’_

The ElvenKing visibly cringed. "I know... I shall explain everything…" Bilba gaped at him. Thranduil turned back to her with a questioning look. “…what?”

"You're going to have to explain that too."


End file.
